All We Are
by mokatster
Summary: A mysterious group offers blessings to the new kings and queens of Narnia. But blessings soon turn to curses as the magic unveils terrifying secrets, and a power believed vanquished threatens to destroy their kingdom and their lives once again.
1. Prologue: The Promise

**All We Are**

**by: mokatster**

Summary: A mysterious group offers blessings to the new kings and queens of Narnia. But blessings soon turn to curses as the magic unveils terrifying secrets, and a power believed vanquished threatens to destroy their kingdom and their lives once again.

_**Prologue: The Promise**_

The air was filled with the clangs and scrapes of steel on steel, with shouts and howls meant to intimidate, with screams of the wounded and dying. At the edge of the wood, she stood perhaps a little too close to the fray—she was within arrow shot—but she feared neither injury nor discovery. No one could find her if she didn't want to be found.

A chill wind whipped across the battlefield and disturbed the trees at the edge of the forest, which rustled in agitation. She pulled her hooded cloak more closely around her, not once removing her eyes from the clashing soldiers.

Anyone who saw her watching this ruthless struggle for domination would say that she watched with indifference. Her hood concealed her face entirely, and her stance revealed no sign of the anger and frustration welling inside of her—a burning force so strong she felt as if she would explode from the effort of suppressing it.

She didn't react when the High King led the charge against the rabble; she didn't flinch when a stray arrow flew toward her hiding place. She betrayed no emotion when the younger king took a slice to the gut, and didn't even blink when he then managed to slay his attacker with a gruesome stab to the throat before collapsing in pain.

She lingered until it was clear who the victors would be. A wolf-like snarl of disgust and bitter disappointment escaped through her teeth and she turned to leave, her cloak swishing angrily behind her. She set a rapid pace through the forest, leaves scattering and swirling around and before her as if in a miniature windstorm. She was capable of faster methods of travel than walking, but she had to move. She wanted to feel the burn of her leg muscles as she strained to maintain her swift speed. She wanted to feel the screaming of her lungs as her breathing became labored.

She had to feel something; she wanted to feel like she was doing something, because thus far all her actions were akin to swimming endlessly against a current. She was accomplishing nothing. Finding nothing.

Her stride didn't falter when another hooded figure suddenly emerged from the trees to her right and fell into step beside her.

"Well, The'eba?" She recognized Maera's distinct voice at once.

"The Narnians are again victorious," she growled, allowing the frustration she felt to color her tone.

"Did the rabble find anything?" It was spoken derisively, but The'eba could detect a sliver of hope in her companion's voice.

"Nothing."

Maera didn't respond, but The'eba knew she felt the same bitter disappointment welling inside of her. There was only one thing they sought, one thing that was more important to them than anything else. It was the only possible catalyst that could bring about the fulfillment of a promise made long ago. Without it—she didn't allow herself to finish the thought, for it caused a wave of despair so strong it was almost incapacitating.

She took a deep breath, the cold air searing her throat and burning her lungs even more. She had never before been accused of impatience. But she—all of them—had waited an entire century longer than planned; she could, perhaps, be excused if she felt inclined to act hastily now.

"It is time to reveal ourselves."

Maera did not respond with the expected protest. Her eyes flashed from within her cowl as she turned toward The'eba.

"It will not be as dangerous as the others suspect," Maera agreed, softly. "The only way to find where it is hidden is to intervene ourselves."

The'eba pressed her lips together in a grim line, though she was pleased that Maera understood the situation as she did. She knew the others would not react favorably when she announced her intentions. But they would all agree, eventually. They couldn't argue the facts. Their efforts, though persistent, had been to no avail. One group after another had all failed to recover what they had been sent for.

"After observing the Kings myself, it is obvious they are not using it to defeat the rabble," she murmured. "In any case, we were foolish to suspect as much. They have not the ability. They would have hidden it."

"No matter," Maera said dismissively. "They cannot conceal it forever. One way or another, they will give it to us."

"And the gift—the only thing worth having, now—will be ours," The'eba said, unable to keep her voice from trembling with emotion.

"Yes," Maera agreed, solemnly. "I have foreseen it."

The'eba breathed easier. Maera was never wrong. If she had indeed seen it, then it would soon come to pass.

They continued through the darkening woods, silent as shadows, their passage marked by no living creature. The'eba felt her confidence grow with each step.

It would soon be theirs.

* * *

A/N: A HUGE thank-you to **Metonomia**, who enthusiastically listened to my scheming for this story when I began it over a year ago, and for graciously looking over the very first drafts.

I'm hoping to begin posting this story regularly by Christmas; I now have nearly 60,000 words and am a mere four chapters away from completion, so I thought it would be safe to post at least the prologue now. Consider this a promise to finally finish this sucker! :)

Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear any and all thoughts/comments! :)


	2. Chapter One: Scars

**All We Are**

**by: mokatster**

_**Chapter One: Scars **_

"Your pen, General."

The leader of the Narnian army took the enormous quill pen with a nod of thanks, and the Faun retreated to stand next to his fellow Faun Captain Thalamus and the Cheetah captain, Citra. With all the solemnity typical of a Centaur, General Oreius handed the pen over to Peter, bowing slightly.

"Your pen, High King."

Peter accepted the instrument with a solemn nod of his own, determinedly avoiding my eye. I bit back a smirk.

Contrary to what my brother would say, I understood—and sometimes even appreciated—certain ceremonies. It had been emphasized to all Four of us that ceremonial formality was very important in dealing with foreign nations. As my confidence as a ruler of Narnia slowly grew, so too did my awareness of the means with which court rituals could be used for political leverage. But among fellow Narnians, with no foreigners present, I honestly detested such stiff and ceremonial behavior. It seemed to go against the wildly free and joyful spirit that most Narnians embodied.

Peter had understood when I said as much to him, but insisted that we needed to keep in practice so other countries would find it more difficult to take advantage of us. I could tell he agreed with my perspective, but he also pointed out that I sometimes exerted extra effort to ensure that the ceremonies performed among us were regarded with more hilarity and less respect than was proper.

I had to admit that this claim was not entirely unwarranted. So this time—for once—I was grudgingly respectful of my brother's attention to his ceremonial duty. He slowly and deliberately marked the area labeled "Shuddering Woods" on the campaign map with a bold red X. (Oreius had insisted on using the word _campaign_, arguing that this was not just a series of random skirmishes, but a continuation of the war with the Witch). The deed done, Peter and I exchanged satisfied glances.

"Your Majesties," Oreius said, and the both of us looked up at him, mentally cringing at the austerity in his voice. Having become leaders of Narnia with practically no military knowledge, the Centaur had taken us kings under his tutelage to impart what he knew. We had grown used to yielding to Oreius' authority on anything that had to do with war or weaponry. Besides his daunting prowess in battle and extensive military background, he was also remarkably observant and always quick to pick up on each of our moods, providing encouragement or instruction when needed.

"Another battle has been won," he continued, looking us each in the eye. "But the enemy is not yet defeated. Our work is far from finished."

He gestured at the table and I looked at the map in its entirety rather than focusing on the fresh mark that indicated another victory. There were many other figures located at different points in the country, marking the locations where lingering followers of the White Witch had been spotted. Oreius' warning against complacency was duly noted—we still had much to do.

All thoughts of eating dinner and collapsing into bed quickly disappeared as I noticed Oreius' strong and intelligent gaze. He, along with all the other officers, was looking at Peter expectantly, with absolute attention and loyalty. I looked to my brother as well, feeling a rush of pride as he straightened under our combined attentions. He had our complete devotion and trust—and for him to recognize and return those sentiments made us a strong force that any enemy would be loathe to face. With renewed determination, I bent over the map with my High King and army leaders to plan our next move.

Peter and I had been working almost non-stop with our army to stamp out the remnants of Jadis' followers. There had been many more than I had expected, and I knew that my siblings were just as surprised as I was at the amount of support Jadis had mustered. Perhaps it was because we had fallen in with the right people when we first entered Narnia, but the four of us had been under the impression that all the Narnians had been against Jadis. We had assumed everyone had just been too fearful to speak up until Aslan revealed Himself. It had never really occurred to us that so many natives had actually supported Jadis of their own free will.

I had been deeply disturbed at the thought, and questioned whether or not the devoted creatures had been enchanted into servitude. If that were the case, shouldn't we work to break the enchantment to give them a chance to reform instead of killing them outright?

Peter had agreed, and suggested that we seek the advice of Taliba, a wise old Tortoise who had taken up residence in the enormous library of Cair Paravel. Having been born well before the takeover of the Witch, she had spent the entire century-long winter hidden in the Cair reading and gathering information on every subject imaginable. As such, she had earned the reputation as the most knowledgeable creature for miles around. If anyone had details on enchantments and their workings, she did.

"Most dominating enchantments like the ones you describe, your Majesty, are only effective as long as one who cast the spell is alive," she had explained in her nasally voice when Peter and I had gone to pose my query to her. Nosing through one of the lower shelves, she clamped her jaw around the spine of a particularly thick reference book. Peter quickly went to her assistance and freed the book from its cozy space on the shelf, smiling at her snuffled thanks. She nosed through the pages, muttering a bit to herself as she scanned through the multitude of chapters the book possessed. Finally she paused, and nudged the book toward us with a satisfied snort.

"That section should explain everything, my Kings. But as I said, I expect any spells the Witch might have cast on her followers to have expired with her death."

Reading the passage for myself, I learned that enchantments meant to control the will of another Being were immensely complex, that they required a great deal of energy, and that they did indeed expire with the death of the caster. This meant that these wayward groups hell-bent on vengeance were loyal to Jadis of their own free will, and that, if they refused to surrender, they would be met with the only justice that was available to them: the sword.

So we found ourselves constantly dispensing this justice on those who sought to kill us and avenge their fallen Queen. But even though these skirmishes were numerous, we did not spend the majority of our time in battle. Our first year of ruling side-by-side with our sisters had flown by in a blur of celebrations, entertaining foreign emissaries while making plans to reestablish trade with the surrounding countries, and reinstating essential domestic laws. It had all passed by so quickly, I could scarcely believe that we had been in Narnia for an entire year. Ruling a country was as terrifying as I had anticipated, though I had not expected it to be so exhausting. I thanked Aslan constantly that He had crowned the Four of us equal rulers—I couldn't imagine doing all this on my own.

After sending several scouts ahead to the Dancing Lawn—the last location before heading home for the Autumn Festival, if all went well—Peter and I bade the General and our Captains good night and left to get some much-needed rest.

I drew a deep breath as I emerged into the crisp night air and followed Peter to our nearby tent. The extended summer was drawing to an end, and while the sun still shone cheerfully during the day, the chillier air more reminiscent of autumn was moving in to command the night. Winter was definitely on its way. Peter shivered and drew his cloak around him. I, of course, already had mine secured as tightly as possible.

"I can't wait to get back to the Cair," I grumbled, watching the beam of light from the lantern Peter held bouncing along in front of us. "The first thing I'm doing is taking a hot bath and eating some hot stew. I may even do both at the same time." Reaching our tent, I ducked quickly under the entrance flap, hoping the air beneath the canvas would be at least slightly warmer than the air outside. It wasn't by much.

Peter chuckled.

"You might not want to take it that far, Ed," he warned, setting the lantern carefully on the ground. He sat down on the edge of his hammock to yank off his boots. "Don't you remember the cookie incident?"

I snorted. My valet, along with the rest of the housekeeping staff at the Cair, was an absolute stickler for order and cleanliness. He had nearly fainted when he had caught his Just King munching cookies in bed one night. He would have a complete fit if I ever did anything as scandalous as eat in the bathtub. I couldn't suppress a grin of gleeful anticipation at the thought.

"What if you spilled?" Peter continued, now tugging his leather jerkin off over his head. "Can you imagine what Besnik would say if he saw you bathing in your stew?" He grinned. "Or scrubbing yourself with carrots instead of soap? Washing your hair with gravy instead of shampoo?"

As Peter chortled, I rolled my eyes and lowered myself carefully into my hammock. The wound on my stomach had been treated and bandaged, but I knew that any sudden movements could put me in a whole lot more pain than I wanted to experience.

"First of all," I answered, my smirk belying my serious tone, "I would never go so far as to scrub myself with carrots—that would turn my skin orange, which would clash horribly with my hair."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Oh, right. My mistake."

"Anyway, my own personal taste notwithstanding, going to such extremes would probably be enough to startle the poor Badger to death," I continued loftily, leaning gingerly over the side of the hammock to stow my sword within easy reach. "My job is just to make his life a little more interesting, that's all. Things would be entirely too dull for him if all he had to do was my laundry and to check to make sure my room was dusted and my pillows fluffed." I grinned at my brother and settled myself underneath my blanket. "I'm merely looking out for his well-being!"

Peter shook his head in mock-exasperation, but I could tell he was fighting a smile. He enjoyed the ongoing battle between me and my valet almost as much as I did, try as he might to hide it. "Well, don't blame me the day he decides to rebel and replaces your shampoo with glue or something."

I burst out laughing, finding it impossible to picture the anxiety-prone Badger doing anything of the sort. I instantly regretted my moment of mirth when I felt a sharp stab of pain lance my abdomen. I winced, and reached under my tunic to touch my stomach, hoping I hadn't caused the wound to start bleeding again. My heart sank when I hand came away from the bandaging damp and sticky. _Damn._

"Ed?"

Peter was at my side instantly, trying to lift my shirt so he could peer at the bandaging underneath. I swatted at his hands, while surreptitiously trying to wipe my dirty one clean on the blankets, feeling irritated and stifled. I knew he had reason to be worried—in fact, I had been rather preoccupied myself with how someone had managed to slice _through_ my chain mail. I had been concerned enough to ask Captain Thalamus to keep the blade and have it studied—but I hadn't told Peter. He worried enough as it was—and I'd just about had it with his coddling.

"Cut it out, Peter! I'm fine! I'm taking it easy. Just don't make me laugh anymore."

He didn't look convinced, but thankfully retreated to his hammock, so I closed my eyes and tried to relax. I heard the ropes on Peter's hammock creak as he sat down. I also noticed he didn't blow out the light.

I waited exactly ten seconds before opening my eyes. He started and glanced away, pretending to be absorbed in painstakingly arranging his blankets. I scowled.

"I can _feel_ you staring at me," I complained.

Peter glanced back at me, and his expression was odd.

"Sorry!" he muttered, holding his hands up defensively. He quickly turned his attention back to his blankets.

I felt a twinge of guilt, just as sharp as the pain in my stomach had been.

"Hey." I inwardly winced as I heard my voice come out sharper than I had intended, but at least it made Peter meet my eye. I peered fixedly at him through narrowed eyes for a moment, then flung my blanket back and padded the two steps over to his hammock. He shifted slightly to make room for me and I settled a little awkwardly next to him. There was a long pause.

"It was just a scratch, Pete," I said finally, staring at my hands.

He shook his head rather violently, still not looking at me; I guessed he was more than a little unnerved that I could so quickly guess the reason behind his reluctance to try to sleep right away. But then, my brother isn't exactly what you'd call mysterious. Everything he's thinking is written on his face for the entire world to see. I really don't think he could keep a secret if he tried.

"There was so much blood…" he whispered, reluctantly admitting his fears, as if speaking any louder would cause the nightmarish images of today's battle to come to life before his eyes.

Something inside my chest constricted painfully. I put a comforting hand on his back, still keeping my gaze carefully averted. I knew nothing I said would reassure him, that nothing could ever erase from his memory the sight of his baby brother wounded on the battlefield.

I sucked on the tip of my index finger and nonchalantly stuck it in Peter's ear.

"Hey!" Peter yelped and clamped a hand over his ear, jumping up and away from me faster than I had ever seen him move before. "What did you do that for?" he demanded furiously, rubbing frantically at the inside of his ear.

I just smirked and pushed past him to get my hammock. I climbed in and shifted to a comfortable position, listening to him muttering darkly as he reclaimed his own bed.

"They didn't hit you hard enough," he grumbled.

I smiled into my pillow.

* * *

I glanced only briefly at my brother's sleeping form before emerging from the tent into the early morning darkness. I knew I didn't have to worry about my movements rousing him—Peter sleeps like the dead when he's exhausted, no matter how hard he tries to "sleep alert" while we're out on campaign. I should have been sleeping heavily too, like any normal person would after the tiresome weeks we'd spent at war.

But then, normal people aren't frequently plagued by nightmares.

I dwelled briefly on my latest one: a soothing, coaxing voice persuading me to reveal the location of my family…anger, and a freezing, pincer-like grip on my arm…howling wolves…a furious shriek, a ferocious snarl, and the sound of dungeon doors clanging shut with a horrible finality.

I shook my head to rid my brain of the images and sensations, trying to get a grip on myself. It was not rare for me to have nightmares, but the quantity had been increasing lately, unsettling me more than I liked. I supposed the cause was dwelling too much on the Witch as we fought the last of her minions and tried to heal the wounds she had inflicted on Narnia.

Narnia would heal; my family and I were working day in and day out to ensure that. But these nightmares seemed to be proof that, despite all the support from my brother and sisters, I hadn't done so well with healing my own wounds. Maybe they couldn't be healed. Maybe I didn't deserve them to be.

As I brooded, my eyes scanned the surrounding campsite. The camp was still quiet, the only movement being that of the guards pacing about on their watch. It was not yet dawn, and the scouts were not expected to report back until sunrise. I knew the camp would be a flurry of activity as daybreak approached; the tents and supplies would be hastily packed and the weapons double-checked to be sure they were battle-ready.

A haunting melody floated toward me on the chilly pre-dawn breeze, successfully distracting me from my grim thoughts. Despite the sorrowful tune, I smiled.

Captain Thalamus was awake.

Instantly, I set off through the dewy grass toward the source of the music, holding my cloak close around me and hoping my friend had brewed some hot tea. I soon spotted Thalamus sitting alone by the main fire in the center of camp—and with the tea kettle already on, thank the Lion! I headed toward him.

I had first met Thalamus at the lively party following Our coronation. At first glance, he had seemed to be like any other Faun: a lover of dancing, music, wine, and laughter. I, of course, knew he was a soldier, and his captain's rank spoke of his level of dedication and skill.

But Thalamus wasn't exactly normal—he was mute. In the year that I'd known him, I'd never heard him utter a single word.

It wasn't until weeks after meeting him that first time that I learned more of his history from other Fauns. He had been born well before the takeover of the White Witch, and had actually fought to defend Narnia from Jadis when she invaded. But he was captured and held for an interminable period, tortured for information and Jadis' sadistic pleasure. He was later turned to stone, and adorned the entrance hall of her ice palace for nearly the entire century-long winter. He had been awakened by Aslan, to find himself the same age but in a different time—one that would see the end of the White Witch. And whether he couldn't or just wouldn't speak was something that was known only by him.

Despite this, we became fast friends, perhaps due to our shared experience of pain at the hands of the Witch. I found it much easier to talk to him about what I had experienced with Jadis than I did with my family. He seemed to understand more than anyone else could, and I was comforted to know that there was another struggling to rid himself of the blight the Witch had left on his soul, just as I was.

He looked up as I approached and after playing one last lingering note on his pipes, greeted me with a friendly smile that chased away any sadness remaining in his eyes. I bowed my head in solemn acknowledgement instead of responding in kind, conveying that I was ready to address him as a king to a soldier, not as a friend coming to chat.

"Good morning, Captain. How went the night watch?"

The Faun waved his hand in a gesture that signaled all clear. He handed me a flask of tea and nodded at my thanks, settling back comfortably on his tree stump while I took a seat on a nearby boulder. I shifted uncomfortably; besides being hard, the rock was freezing and my pants did nothing to prevent the cold from seeping through them. I gulped my tea, stifling a gasp as the hot liquid seared my throat.

"Did anyone manage to take a look at that knife, Captain?" I coughed, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

Thalamus shook his head. He gave a funny little shrug and gestured at his chin, as if he were stroking a beard.

I nodded approvingly. "You're right; the Dwarves at the Cair would be able to tell us more. Thank you for taking this so seriously," I added gratefully. "I've heard it's practically impossible to cut through Dwarf-made chain mail, so I just…" I trailed off, not really knowing exactly what I suspected. I had a strange feeling when I thought of that knife, though, as if I were failing to grasp something important and obvious about it.

Thalamus frowned and drew an imaginary dagger, miming a quick and direct thrust.

I shook my head. "It was a glancing blow. There was no conceivable way it should have been able to break the links and wound the flesh underneath." I took another sip of hot tea, staring into the fire. I didn't think the Dwarves had made a mistake with the chain mail; it was much more likely that the knife was more than what it appeared.

Thalamus gently touched my knee to get my attention. Then he moved his hand from his head and across his body in a complicated gesture—the sign that was associated with my brother, the High King.

"No," I said quickly. The last thing I needed was for Peter to be worrying about whether or not I could have been poisoned or something. "The High King is not to be told. Not at least until after we get back and have discovered something definitive about the blade."

I could tell that Thalamus didn't agree with my decision, but he bowed his head in acknowledgement without further comment. After a few moments of sipping our tea in comfortable silence, he touched my knee again, a little hesitantly. He gestured at me, then across his eyes.

I sighed, knowing it was time to drop the formality.

"I had another nightmare," I confessed softly to my friend.

Thalamus' brow furrowed in concern. He clenched his hand into a fist, and made a violent gesture.

I nodded heavily, keeping my gaze fixed on the flask in my hands. "Yeah. It was her again." I was quiet for a moment before continuing. "I feel like they're becoming more frequent," I said. "But I don't really know why that'd be."

Thalamus shrugged a shoulder and drained the last of his tea. Then, staring for a moment at the flames licking the logs at our feet, he gestured again, this time toward himself before brushing a hand across his eyes.

I nodded in understanding. "Your nightmares are the same?" I asked him.

A shadow crossed his face and he nodded sadly. I pressed my lips together in a sympathetic grimace, turning away to casually scan the camp. Though the Witch was a prominent figure in his nightmares, Thalamus more frequently had terribly saddening dreams of those he had lost to her wand, winter, and time.

How horrible it must have felt, to wake up after such experiences no being should have to suffer, only to find those you loved best had been lost to Jadis' ruthless spell or to impartial Time. I offered silent thanks that I had been restored to my family after my trials.

Glancing at Thalamus again, I noticed he was lovingly fingering a golden ring hanging from a fine chain around his neck. I had asked him once what it was, and he would only say that it was a promise. I had been able to tell from the look in his eyes, though, that it had to do with someone he had lost to the Witch.

"Do you think she heard you playing?" I asked him, softly. My friend flashed me a look of slight amusement tinged with a familiar sorrow. He motioned toward the ring, and then clasped his hands together tightly: the sign that I understood to either mean vow or promise. It was the only sign he'd ever made when I asked about the ring. I beheld it solemnly as it glinted in the light of the flickering flames. Some might have scoffed at Thalamus' insistence on carrying the ring with him, claiming it to be a sign of detrimental sentimentality and accusing him of uselessly clinging to the past. But after hearing his story, I knew that he carried the ring not as a reminder of what he had lost, but of what he still had and would one day experience anew. The miniature circlet was a symbol of everlasting love and loyalty, and the promise to meet again one day.

I sipped my tea and watched the dancing flames, whose glow became less and less pronounced as the sky grew lighter. Thalamus continued to play softly on his pipes: first a lilting, merry dancing tune that brought to mind butterflies bobbing over fields of flowers, then a slower, contemplative piece that made me think of tall mountains under endless skies.

He stopped abruptly in the middle of a run, and met my questioning glance with a serious stare. This time he made the gesture associated with the High King, and then pointed at me before brushing a hand across his eyes.

I frowned, displeased, and shook my head. "You _know_ why I don't talk to my family about that."

Thalamus did his funny half-shrug, and lowered his gaze to his panpipes. He moved his fingers from his head and across his body in the same complicated gesture, and then followed up with two different but similar motions.

"They can't even begin to understand what it's like," I snapped. "What on earth can they possibly do to help? I won't burden any of them with it." I had done enough damage—how was I to know how my family would react? It was better just to leave well enough alone.

Thalamus began to argue, but I'd had enough. I was a king—I didn't have to listen to this. I stood hastily, stumbling over my boulder in the process.

At that point, I was distracted by the sound of a horn, and the sharp retort I had planned died on my lips.

Thalamus shaded his eyes with his hand, the gesture for _scout_, and stood quickly.

I nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks so much for reading, especially if you managed to get through the entire chapter! I'm aware it may have been a bit tedious, but all of the information is important and will come up later in the story.

A quick note on names: there is a part of the brain called the thalamus. I learned that particular tidbit during a hearing science class last year, and randomly thought it would work for a Faun's name, given the "-mus" ending. :)

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated, since this is my first LONG story and I would love tips for improvement! :) Thanks again for reading!


	3. Chapter Two: Homecoming

**All We Are**

**by: mokatster**

_**Chapter Two: Homecoming**_

"Queen Susan! Queen Susan!"

I turned at the distressed cry to see a black and white blur hurtling down the passage straight at me.

"Queen Susan!"

"Pray slow down and take a deep breath, friend!" I exclaimed as the Skunk skidded to a halt in front of me. She was clutching in her tail a wooden spoon covered in some sort of batter.

"There's no time, no time!" she wailed as I knelt in front of her. "It's ruined, all ruined!"

"Take a deep breath, Sookie," I repeated as soothingly as I could, for I could smell that she was starting to get very upset indeed. "After that, count to ten slowly and then tell me what the trouble is."

Sookie the Skunk was our head cook at the Cair, and along with her unmatched talent for cooking came a set of very high standards. Every meal, even the casual breakfasts among the Four of us, had to be absolutely perfect. Combine this expectation with the somewhat organized chaos that usually reigned in the castle, and one ends up with a very neurotic Skunk, which is hazardous to the olfactory well-being of anyone in the general vicinity.

The Skunk sat back on her hind legs and gulped some air, twisting the wooden spoon in her claws, trying to calm down as I had requested. Then, at my encouraging nod, she burst out, "The blackberries! There aren't enough blackberries for the cake! The Songbirds! The Songbirds filched them this afternoon after I had set them out specially!" She jabbed the spoon viciously at the air as she spoke, splattering the floor and my gown with globs of cake batter.

"What other berries have you?" I asked. Thankfully, the Skunk stopped waving the spoon around and stared at me in shock.

"Other—other berries, your Majesty?"

"Yes," I said patiently. "Surely there are other berries you have available that you could mix with the blackberries to get the amount you need."

Sookie considered, then said slowly, "We do have quite an abundance of raspberries…of course, some I had set aside for other things, but given the circumstances…"

"Cake with a mix of blackberries and raspberries will taste wonderful," I said fervently. "In fact, I'm sure that it is an improvement over the blackberries alone."

"Do you think so?" Sookie looked slightly mollified. She took the spoon back in her tail and settled on all four paws again. "In that case, I'd better be headed back to the kitchens, your Majesty. Thank you for your valuable insight on this matter."

"You're quite welcome, Sookie," I said, fighting back a smile as I straightened. "I'm very much looking forward to tasting the cake."

"May I please request that you speak to the Songbirds, however?" Sookie asked, her eyes shining up at me pleadingly. "Nothing I say makes any difference, and I can't run a kitchen when my supplies are in danger of being stolen from right under my snout!"

"I'll speak to them," I promised. The Skunk headed back down the corridor, only slightly less frantically than before, her spoon leaving a trail of batter drips behind her. With an amused smile, I continued on my way to one of the balconies overlooking the south garden, brushing vainly at the batter stains on my skirt. I would have to change before dinner.

The Autumn Festival was a mere fortnight away, and preparations were in full swing. The south gardens were fairly bursting with activity. I had been down among the hustle and bustle for most of the afternoon, planning the table arrangements with the Dwarfs, hearing numerous dancing stories from the Fauns and Dryads, and trying to convince the Squirrels that pelting nuts at the poor, blind Moles while they tried to dig holes for posts was not at all helpful.

I took a deep breath of the late afternoon air as I emerged onto the balcony, trying to rid my senses of Sookie's distress. Leaning out over the rail, I saw that the lawn below still teemed with activity. I hoped everything would get done in time; the delegations from Archenland, the Lone Islands, the Seven Isles and Terebinthia would be arriving two days before the Festival, and we had yet to receive word from Galma and Calormene. It would be the first grand event held at the Cair in hundreds of years which so many international guests were to be attending. As such, there was tremendous pressure for everything to be perfect. If it wasn't…well, I didn't like to consider the effect it could have on any credibility the Four of us had attained since Our coronation almost a year ago.

"Queen Susan!"

I turned from the railing with a smile to greet the four Warblers flittering my way. Three of them held large clusters of berries clamped in their beaks.

"Would these do for adorning the centerpieces, your Majesty?" chirped Paja, who was the leader of the bunch.

I held out my hand and one of the birds dropped their berries in my palm. I held them up, and their waxy red skin glinted in the rays of the setting sun.

"These are just lovely!" I exclaimed. "Yes, they'll do perfectly, thank you! Please be sure to gather enough for all the tables." The Birds chirped with pleasure at my approval and flapped away to find some more.

"Oh, Paja?" The bright yellow leader circled back, landing on the finger I held up for him. "Do you by any chance know anything about the blackberries Sookie had sitting out in the kitchen?"

Paja fluttered his wings and cocked his head to the side.

"Do you speak of the juicy ones she had sitting in a bowl on the windowsill?"

I suppressed a sigh.

"Yes, Paja. You know how upset Sookie gets when her kitchen is disrupted." I let my voice grow a little harder. "You are aware of what happens when you upset a Skunk, are you not? We don't need anyone getting sick from eating spoiled food."

The Warbler's tail drooped. "My most sincere apologies, your Majesty. The others and I will look elsewhere for berries next time."

I inclined my head. "Thank you, friend."

The Bird twittered and flapped away.

I had just gone back to observing the preparations when I heard yet another voice call my name.

"Susan!"

I turned again, smiling, this time to greet my cheerful little sister. Lucy flung her arms around me in an exuberant greeting, but then pulled back abruptly, her nose wrinkled in slight disgust.

"Were you just talking to Sookie? Is she upset again?" she asked, rubbing her nose as if that would make the offending odor disappear.

I sighed. Yes, a change of clothes was definitely in order. "Yes, but it's nothing more than usual," I answered. I only hoped I had calmed the Skunk down before too much of the food was ruined.

"All the Fauns from the Shuddering Woods are already here!" Lucy exclaimed delightedly, peering down on the Fauns and Dryads frolicking in the garden.

"They fled to Owlwood several weeks ago," I reminded her. "So they didn't have as far to travel. The Shuddering Woods haven't been safe lately."

"They will be now," Lucy said firmly. "I'm sure Peter and Edmund have things well in hand over there." She paused and looked at me hopefully. "Have we had any sort of message from them? Are they closer?"

I laughed. "Lucy, the Falcon just came this morning to say they were starting to head back here mid-morning yesterday. They're taking it slowly—so they probably won't be back until tomorrow around the same time."

She pressed her lips together, looking slightly crestfallen. "It just feels like they've been gone forever," she said softly.

I had to agree with her; Peter and Edmund had set off for the Shuddering Woods nearly a week ago. Not two days before that they had returned from a two-week sojourn in the South, where bits of the Witch's forces had been amassing near our border with Archenland.

I was so proud of my brothers, fighting so hard to keep us and Narnia safe. But going for weeks without seeing them was something I had not expected after Our coronation. In fact, I had been expecting to see more of them, given that we were all ruling a country together. Being a Queen was exceedingly difficult, what with having to remember the various intricacies of diplomacy, the rules of court etiquette, and the proper procedure for dealing with such and such conflict.

I suppressed a sigh. These difficulties I had anticipated, but that didn't make their burden any easier to bear. Despite the seemingly complete confidence and trust the Narnians had for me and my siblings, I still felt woefully inadequate to rule. I felt I didn't know enough, that I didn't have a good sense for what was best for our country, especially when it came to others' intentions. I was worried that I would underestimate people that could later turn out to be threats or, on the other hand, overreact to a harmless gesture from an outside entity.

Dealing with this insecurity was not easy, but it was the separation from my family that had been very much unexpected, and harder than anything else I'd had to cope with in my position. From the look on my little sister's face, I knew she didn't like the separation any more than I did.

I slid a comforting arm around her. "They'll be home soon, Lu. And won't they be surprised when they see all the decorations that have already been put up!"

Lucy brightened at this just as I'd hoped. "I think everyone here knows how to have fun more than we do!"

I laughed again. The Narnians certainly knew how to have a good time. In fact, when I had first suggested that we start planning for the beginning of autumn celebrations, I had been surprised when several of the Fauns immediately broke out the wine casks. They insisted that music was much easier composed with the assistance of Bacchus' gift, and I had let them be, sensing that this was something they had always done. I didn't want to inadvertently step on any toes (or hooves, in the Fauns' case). However, I was quite certain that the spiced wine would not help the Dwarfs at all in carrying tables and other furniture, so I had been very firm with them. We didn't need any broken furniture or broken Dwarfs.

"Perhaps we should call everyone in for dinner soon," I murmured, noticing the position of the sun. It was now starting to sink behind the mountains to the west, its last few rays stretching across the world to gild the tops of the trees in the Narnian forests and set our castle aflame. "We can continue the decorating tomorrow."

A sudden gust of wind blew over us, fanning our hair out behind us. I smoothed mine unconsciously, and noticed that several strands had freed themselves of Lucy's braids and were now dancing in the lingering breeze. I automatically reached out to tidy her hair as well.

But Lucy wasn't the least bit preoccupied with her hair. She seized my hand to stop it as it neared her head. Her face was scrunched up, as if she were straining to hear something.

"Lucy?"

"Ssh!" she hissed, straightening up with her head tilted slightly to one side.

This time, I heard what she had caught before, carried on the wind: the faint call of a horn. I turned to my sister excitedly, the same wild happiness rising in my chest reflected in her face.

"They're home!" she whispered, her eyes gleaming.

Grasping each other by the hand, we both practically flew along the corridor and down several flights of stairs before emerging into the front courtyard. The horn had carried well, and the open space was already teeming with Narnians eager to greet our returning Kings and army.

It wasn't long before we saw Peter top the crest of the hill at the head of the army. As soon as he came into view, the entire courtyard burst into cheers and applause. A horn was blown in reply and the army continued onward until they were pouring into the main gate.

Finally, finally, they were all through. As the horn rang a third time to announce the closing of the gates, Lucy and I rushed forward to Peter, who was swinging off his horse. I felt pride swell within my chest as I watched him dismount. His face was tinged with exhaustion, but still he stood proud and erect, looking every bit Narnia's High King.

"Peter!" Lucy shrieked, flinging herself at him. Tired though he must have been, he wrapped his arms around her waist and swung her around, eliciting more shrieks.

I smiled to see them together. Peter was always doing things like that just to hear Lucy laugh.

"Completely out of control," said a voice just behind me. I turned to see my younger brother dismounting his own horse. He shook his head in mock-disapproval as he met my eye, but I could tell he was trying not to smile. "When will they learn that such behavior does not befit royalty?"

I laughed and rushed forward to hug him. We held each other tightly for a few moments, and I could tell from the way Ed was crushing my ribs that he was happy to be back. "You're home early," I murmured happily in his ear.

"Yeah, we lost trace of the other groups we'd been tracking," he replied, starting to shift uncomfortably in my hold. "Someone will send us word if they're spotted again."

Suddenly I drew back, coughing slightly, having detected an odd and rather sour smell hanging in the air.

"Did you even bathe at _all_ while you were gone?" I choked.

"I tried not to," Edmund shrugged as Lucy and Peter joined us.

"What?" he protested at my raised eyebrow. "_You _would deal with the dirt as well if the alternative was plunging into a river of ice." He returned his little sister's enthusiastic hug, wincing when Lucy squeezed him particularly tightly. "Not so tight, Lu."

She gasped, releasing him immediately. "You're hurt!"

He shook his head, smiling reassuringly. "Just a scratch." He glanced sideways at me. "Which nevertheless would have been irritated by the icy river water!"

Lucy looked up at him and wrinkled her nose.

"What? I don't smell _that_ bad—do I?"

"You _could_ do with a wash," she admitted.

Peter chuckled at Edmund's exasperated sigh as he and I separated from our own embrace. I smiled warmly at him when he gave me an extra kiss on the cheek. It was so good to have him and Edmund home.

But it would be even better once they were clean.

"Peter doesn't smell," I informed Edmund in a lofty tone. "_He_ obviously remembered that the soap I had packed for the both of you wasn't just for decoration."

Edmund threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine!" he exclaimed, trying to sound angry but his eyes were amused. "I was _going_ to eat dinner to ward off impending starvation, but I _suppose_ in order to preserve our dear Queens I shall have to take the time to bathe first." He shook off Lucy and stomped toward the castle.

"Don't forget to wash behind your ears!" I called after him. He waved a hand over his shoulder without turning around, a gesture so quick it was impossible to tell whether it was rude or not.

I gave Peter a light push toward the castle as well.

"I told Edmund that you didn't smell just to ruffle his feathers. You need a bath as well."

"What?" Peter sputtered. "High Kings don't smell bad. It's not in our nature."

"Well, I don't know anyone who thinks that raw fish smells good," I retorted. "And you smell as bad as raw fish that's been sitting in the rubbish heap for a week."

Peter winced and placed a hand over his chest as if I'd wounded him.

"Your sister is ruthless, Lucy! What did I ever do to deserve such treatment?"

Lucy giggled. "You won't be saying that after you're clean and we eat dinner. Su's asked Sookie to make your favorite."

Peter looked at me hopefully.

"Really? Bangers and mash?"

I just raised my eyebrows and smiled mysteriously.

"Fine, fine, I get the point! I'm going to go bathe now."

I smiled. "We'll ask that dinner be served in your sitting room."

Peter saluted and made his way inside, throwing one last cheeky grin over his shoulder. I turned to Lucy.

"I'm going up to my room to change as well."

"Please do!" she said fervently. "You smell too!"

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile. "Would you send word to have dinner sent to Peter's sitting room?"

Lucy nodded and waved one hand at me impatiently, the other pinching her nose. "Yes, yes! _Please_ go change your dress now! I'm suffocating!"

I gave her a mock-glare, but in truth I was more than willing to comply. I turned and headed inside.

* * *

**A/N:** Sookie the Skunk was heavily inspired from the character Sookie from the TV series the Gilmore Girls. If you haven't watched it, you should! Also, I have no idea how long it would take to get from the Shuddering Woods to the Cair. So I made something up. If the time frame I had here doesn't make sense, then that's why!

I'm keeping my fingers crossed to have this story completely finished by Christmas! Look for the next chapter in a few days! Thanks so much to everyone out there reading, and especially to those who have reviewed! I really value your thoughts!


	4. Chapter Three: The Mysterious Missive

**All We Are**

**by: mokatster**

_**Chapter Three: The Mysterious Missive **_

"Don't hit my face," Lucy warned for the umpteenth time.

I growled impatiently at my sister's admonition, which she had been repeating constantly for the past ten minutes. "I _won't_, I said! Don't you trust me? Have I hit you yet?" I shifted slightly in my chair and adjusted the spoon to make sure the grape wasn't rolling out of the scoop. "Just hold the bowl level…"

My little sister rolled her eyes slightly, but stopped fidgeting with the serving bowl she held perched on her head.

I bit back a satisfied smirk. It was a good thing I had a little sister, because I could never have gotten Peter or Susan to agree to this. Susan wouldn't do it because she didn't approve of playing with one's food, and Peter—well, Peter would know full well that I'd be aiming for his face rather than the bowl.

We had been waiting ages for the High King and Queen to come to the breakfast table. I, of course, had been all for tucking in straight away, but _Lucy_ had insisted on being polite and waiting for them. Then I started playing with my spoon, discovered that it was remarkably bendy, caught sight of some grapes sitting in the fruit bowl, and…well.

Most of the grapes had gone shooting past my sister's ear or over her head, bouncing off the opposite wall. I had just been warming up, though… _this _grape was certain to land in the bowl. My tongue between my teeth, I bent the spoon back, and let loose the plump little fruit. The grape curved a graceful arc through the air, coming to land squarely in the bowl on Lucy's head.

I shouted triumphantly just as Peter and Susan walked in. Immediately I let my spoon fall with a clatter and Lucy hastily replaced the serving bowl beside her plate.

Susan narrowed her eyes suspiciously, an amused smirk playing at her lips, but she didn't comment. Peter, of course, didn't notice anything. He tended to be a little disoriented in the mornings.

"Well, it's nice to get such an enthusiastic greeting from our fellow king first thing in the morning," Peter said slightly grumpily, I thought, as he sat down at the head of the table. Lucy stood up to kiss Susan on the cheek as she made her way to her chair opposite Peter's.

My brother turned to look at me, his eyebrows raised. "Is there any particular reason Linus was overly preoccupied with the state of my pants this morning?"

I looked at him, puzzled but unable to prevent an amused smirk at the unusual question.

"I dunno, Pete, did you put them on right? I thought most toddlers mastered that particular skill, but.."

Peter looked at me, slightly exasperated.

"Come on, Ed, I know it was you. His exact words were, 'I just want to make sure you don't have your knickers in a twist. That sounds extremely uncomfortable.'"

Susan and Lucy laughed, while I suppressed a snort. So _that's _why he had been late to breakfast. I supposed I couldn't blame him for being grumpy with me.

Last night, I had proposed a chess game after dinner, only to discover that I couldn't find my chess set. After a rousing argument with Peter over who had had it last, I had stormed off to my room to look for it, running into my brother's valet along the way. When he had inquired after my well-being, I had grumped about how Peter "had his knickers in a twist," before swerving around him to look for the elusive board game. It had never occurred to me that he would actually take me literally.

I tried to arrange my features into as innocent an expression as I could, which is about as hard as one would expect while choking back laughter. "Why, I am at a loss, brother. Pass me those sausages, would you?"

Peter made a sound in his throat that made it quite clear that my casual tone wasn't fooling him in the slightest, but he didn't pursue the topic as he handed me the platter of sausages. He pulled the fruit bowl toward him and started spooning some late summer berries onto his plate.

"Are we heading up to Owlwood today, Su?" Lucy asked, sipping her tea.

Susan sighed, looking so unenthused that I almost volunteered to go with Lucy instead. Almost.

We had received word the previous night that the Black Bears—always more arrogant than the Grizzlies—had been monopolizing the berry bushes in the central clearing in Owlwood. The Opossums, Raccoons, Rabbits, Deer, Squirrels, Chipmunks and various Songbirds had all complained directly to the Bear community, to no avail. Now they were pleading with their Kings and Queens to intervene.

"Yes, I suppose we'd better go straight after breakfast," Susan said, scraping butter across a slice of toast. "This quarrel over the berries has gone on long enough." She had been about to say something else, but stopped, frowning across the table at Peter. "What's the matter with you, Peter?"

"Where are all the grapes?" he said, frowning at his grape-less plate. He started digging through the fruit bowl with the serving spoon, as if he expected all the grapes to be hiding at the bottom.

_Oops. _I had forgotten that grapes were Peter's favorite. Maybe I should have been chucking the raspberries instead. I met Lucy's eye, but we both had to quickly look away to hide our laughter. She wriggled around in her chair, trying to kick the grapes within leg-length radius under the table and out of sight.

"We'll have more grapes soon," Susan said excitedly. "The weather's starting to change, and harvest time is fast approaching. The Dryads in the orchard have been telling me all about the celebrations that continue throughout the season, and Taliba's told me almost the entire history of the parties held at mid-autumn—"

"Is that kind of like midsummer?" Lucy piped up. She was teetering on the edge of her seat, straining, I assumed, to get to a grape that was just out of reach.

"Lucy, what _are_ you doing?" Susan asked instead of answering. She leaned around the milk jug to peer at Lucy, who was now sitting straight and still in her chair. "You've been wriggling around all morning!"

To avoid looking at my little sister, which was sure to make either or both of us laugh, I reached for the stack of morning messages. Focused on these, I could effectively blot out all conversation. Skillfully sliding the pile off the table—narrowly avoiding dipping my elbow in the dish of strawberry jam—I settled the stack on my lap and began rifling through it, separating each piece into piles according to the nature of the message.

It was usually easy to tell which messages came from abroad and which were from our fellow Narnians. The humans from other countries used ink and parchment as we did, as did the Fauns and Dwarves from our own country. But since the majority of Narnia's inhabitants were Beasts and did not possess the opposable thumbs required to manipulate a writing instrument, we had grown accustomed to receiving messages written by creatures who had dipped their paw, claw or feathers in berry juice or mud to form letters or symbols. It was also not uncommon to receive letters written on various assortments of leaves, rocks, or scratched into large pieces of tree bark rather than on sheaves of parchment. Today, it appeared that we had mostly received messages from our good Beasts rather than from our curious and (usually) well-intentioned neighbors. I smiled at the strange pile in front of me and got to work, still determinedly ignoring any conversation that may have concerned grapes.

The first six were audience requests—I hadn't read any of them very carefully, but merely glancing through was enough to discover they were all dealing with the Black Bear problem. I sighed as I stacked the requests as best I could—as well as one could stack a rock, shavings of bark, and leaves—in the first pile. Susan and Lucy were going to have fun.

There were many letters and notes that simply contained love and well wishes. Each of these would have to be followed up with an equally courteous and loving reply. Pile number two.

Our self-designed organizational system usually could be divided into these two piles; most international correspondence and the more urgent requests came by courier and were handed directly to us. But when I picked up the last letter, I recognized at once that it was different.

It was written on parchment much thicker than we were used to using—it seemed a lot older. It was heavy when I picked it up. As I lifted it closer to my face to examine it, I detected a strange odor. Cautiously inhaling a little deeper, I realized the parchment was perfumed. But it wasn't strong and announcing like a woman's perfume would be. It was more intense, somehow. It seemed to have more depth, to include all the elements of the earth and the skies. It wasn't a natural scent, but all the same it seemed to belong here. I felt sure that I had smelled it somewhere before, because it seemed familiar—and not in a good way. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

I flipped the letter over. The seal was a design that I had never seen before.

"What's that, Ed?"

I was greeted by three curious gazes when I looked up. And silence. No more talking about grapes, parties, or Peter's knickers.

"I dunno," I shrugged. "I haven't opened it yet." But I handed it to Peter, who had been eying it curiously. "It must be from elsewhere."

"Open it!" Lucy urged as Peter examined the letter carefully.

"Kind of tingles in your hand, doesn't it?" I said softly as Peter hesitated. He looked up at me sharply.

"It felt strange to you too, then?"

"Well, the only way we're going to find out who it's from is to open it," Susan pointed out, a little testily. But Peter handed the letter back to me.

"I don't think I should be the one to open it," he said.

"Why me?" I asked, uncomfortable.

Peter shook his head.

"I dunno," he said seriously. "I just feel like it should be you."

I looked again at the wax seal as I flipped the letter over, my heart beating a little faster in apprehension. Why was I so nervous about this?

Impatiently suppressing my discomfort—it was just a piece of paper, after all—I ripped the seal and shook open the letter.

A chill ran down my spine as I read the contents aloud.

_Valiant and Just, Gentle and Magnificent. _

_We see your faces, we know your hearts. _

_We see the love you have for Narnia, _

_Yet we know that heavy lay the crowns. _

_Joyful and Wise, Beautiful and Strong,_

_We offer ourselves to you._

_We present to you our services, _

_For we are gifted in the magical arts. _

_But though we are powerful, we have not the potency_

_Of Him who gave you your thrones._

_With our blessing we strive to help you serve Him. _

_Only each of you know how best to do this;_

_If within our power, it will be endowed. _

There was no signature of any sort. Utterly bewildered, I raised my gaze to see my family staring at me, each of them looking nonplussed. It was without a doubt the strangest message we had ever received.

Who had sent it? What was going on?

It was into our befuddled silence that Mr. Tumnus entered. He had bowed and wished us a good morning before noticing our expressions.

"What has happened?" he asked immediately.

"We—we don't know," Lucy stammered uncertainly. "We just got this rather strange letter, you see, and we're not quite sure what to make of it.

"May I see it?"

I handed Mr. Tumnus the letter, feeling troubled as well as confused. These people knew our hearts, and were also gifted in magic? Sounded to me like a bunch of—

"Witches!" Mr. Tumnus burst out. He looked up at us, and in his face was a strange combination of fear and excitement. "Your Majesties, I think this may be from the Coven of Zwn!"

There was a moment of stunned silence; then all four of us spoke at once.

"_Who?_"

"There are _witches_ in Narnia?"

"Are they friendly?"

"I suggest we call a council," Peter's voice rang out above all the rest. "We obviously know nothing of this Coven, and quite frankly, I think the more information we have about anything concerning magic, the better. Tumnus, you'll alert all the necessary people? Tell them I'd like to convene at once."

Tumnus nodded and bustled off to make arrangements.

"Can we at least finish eating first, Peter?" Susan sounded slightly exasperated.

He nodded. "It'll take a few minutes to get everyone together anyway."

I turned back to my breakfast, hardly noticing what I was eating. I hadn't even considered that there may be others that would dub themselves _witches_. The name unsettled me, especially considering our history with one Witch in particular.

My siblings each seemed to be thinking the same thing. Peter and Susan both had frowns on their faces, and Lucy seemed to be pondering something rather weighty. Her face was slightly scrunched.

"Well, they seem to know Aslan," she said suddenly into the silence. "They can't be like _her_, then, can they?"

"Jadis knew Him too," I pointed out darkly. "At least, she knew enough to be scared of Him."

"But these don't seem like they are scared," Lucy argued. "They said they wanted to help us _serve_ Him, not run away."

"You're too trusting," I snapped. "Someone can use the name of Aslan as a curse just as easily as a blessing."

"Don't let's fight," Susan interrupted hurriedly. "We shouldn't make any assumptions about this Coven—good or bad—until we know more."

"I agree," Peter said, pushing back his plate and standing up. "So let's go find out more."

* * *

**A/N: **The idea of Narnians being confused by English-language idioms (i.e. Peter's valet confused by the phrase "knickers in a twist") was inspired by a fanfic I read a while ago, where Phillip the horse was confused by the phrase "put your foot in your mouth." I don't remember whose story it was, but that's where the inspiration came from! If anyone knows what I'm talking about, please let me know so I can give the author credit.

The Coven of Zwn's name comes from the Greek word for "life." "Zwn" looks kind of like the Greek characters, which is why I chose the name. I'm pronouncing "Zwn" as "ZOH-ee."

Also, the phrasing of the message isn't supposed to be great poetry-or poetry at all for that matter.

Thank you so much for reading and especially to those who have reviewed! I really value all the feedback I get. :)


	5. Chapter Four: The Coven of Zwn

**All We Are**

**by: mokatster**

_**Chapter Four: The Coven of Zwn**_

Responding to Peter's urgent request, General Oreius, Captain Thalamus, Captain Citra, Mr. Tumnus, and Taliba the librarian, as well as several other advisors, had all gathered into the meeting room—which lately had only been used as a war council room—off the great hall. The matter was explained hastily and the letter read aloud to many exclamations, growls, squeaks, and honks of astonishment. Now the crowded chamber was silent, and all eyes were on Taliba as she carefully reread the letter from the Coven.

Beside me, Lucy shifted a little impatiently and I suppressed a smile. As a Tortoise, Taliba moved slowly but read even slower. This time her progress was hindered even more as she painstakingly examined the handwriting, parchment, and wording of the message for proof of legitimacy.

I peered sideways at my brothers, scrutinizing them without turning my head. Peter's face was devoid of expression as he watched the librarian rub her snout across the letter to determine the type and age of the parchment. He would never show or admit that he was worried unless there was an evident cause, but I knew him too well. A hundred possibilities would be running through his mind at that moment as to what this Coven's intentions were. And knowing my anxiety-prone brother, most of his imagined intentions would be motivated by the possible malevolent desire on the Coven's part to cause us harm.

Edmund, however, unlike Peter, had never mastered the expressionless expression—an art he had been advised to learn when dealing with foreign nations and presiding over domestic disputes that required absolute impartiality. I knew that anyone who saw fit to dub herself a witch would be very troubling to him; he had had a permanent frown etched into his forehead ever since breakfast. He was now watching Taliba work with something akin to a scowl on his face.

I had to admit that I admired Taliba's focus. She kept her concentration and completely ignored the shifting and the sighing from practically everyone. I knew that at least I would have been tempted to order everyone out so I could have conducted the inspection with less pressure.

Finally, the Tortoise looked up.

"From my examination of the document," she snuffled. "It appears to be legitimate. The parchment is very old, certainly much older than the days of the White Witch's reign. The ink is made from the brambleberry. This particular fruit grows only in the Forest of Gnosis, on the western edge of the Northern Moors, where the Coven of Zwn has been rumored to reside."

"Rumored?" Edmund interjected. Taliba turned her brown-green eyes to him, looking slightly miffed at this interruption.

"No one has ever definitively confirmed their location," she admitted, softly. Her voice was heavy with disappointment, and I imagined that she had gone through every record she could find in order to find a more exact clue, to no avail. "They are extremely adept at concealing themselves, and are only found when they wish to be."

This ominous pronouncement hung in the air for a moment before Peter spoke.

"Now that we know that the message is really from these witches, what can we suppose their intentions are? What do we know about them?" From the tone of his voice, I could tell that the name _witches_ hadn't left a good impression on him either.

Taliba opened her mouth to respond, but despite her eagerness to share her knowledge, her slow reflexes were no match for others' quicker tongues.

"They have always come to Narnia to bestow their blessing on newly crowned rulers," offered Mr. Tumnus. "It is a great honor. The Coven are extremely gifted in the magical arts."

"But who are they?"

"They are witches—the keepers of magic in this world," Taliba reiterated huffily. "The Coven is a group of thirteen beings who have existed as long as Narnia has—maybe even longer. They have come shortly after the coronation of each new monarch to offer a blessing, always in the name of Aslan. These blessings are granted according to the wishes and temperament of the Narnian ruler. There is no record of the Coven granting any wish that brought harm to Narnia—indeed, their blessings have seemed to aid and abet the King or Queen in every way they wanted. And so the Coven have always been accorded a great honor whenever they appear here."

There was a brief silence in which everyone digested this.

"Why didn't they help us at Beruna?" Peter wondered. "With Aslan gone, you'd think they'd have realized that we could have done with someone with magical knowledge on our side to balance things out."

"Their allegiance is their own, Your Majesty," General Oreius announced grimly, as Taliba opened her mouth to respond. He continued, ignoring the withering glare the librarian sent his way. "Although they seem to have a great respect for Narnia and her rulers, they are under no obligation to fight for them."

Captain Thalamus made a series of gestures, and his cousin Tumnus nodded in understanding. "They are not technically a part of this country," he translated. "Nor of any other. They are like a world unto themselves. But both Thalamus and I remember hearing of them in stories when we were young, and this was not to their detriment. Indeed, I have never heard anything but awe and respect for the Coven. Though they have never fought for us, neither have they fought against us."

"But just a moment," Edmund objected. "You say the Coven is respected and that they have done nothing but help Narnia. That doesn't seem quite right. If they love Narnia so much, even though they are under no obligation, why didn't they fight against the Witch when she invaded?"

I felt my stomach squirm unpleasantly. Edmund brought up a good point; how could these witches claim to love Narnia, and yet not defend her in her hour of greatest need? Surely they could have done _something_.

"The Witch struck quickly and unexpectedly, barring everyone from leaving or entering this country right on the off," said Oreius dourly. "It mattered not whether the Coven tried to offer assistance, for they would have been unable to lift even a finger against her if they'd wanted to."

"Jadis held us all helpless, your Majesties," Tumnus added softly. "There was no hope at all until you arrived."

The others were silent at this, but I still felt uneasy. Even if the Coven were friendly to us and our country, how on earth were we to receive such extraordinary and esteemed beings?

"What can we expect, then?" I now voiced my thoughts. "Do we have any choice in accepting their offer? And if we do accept, how on earth are we to contact them?"

"Certainly you have a choice." Galeforce, our most prominent Centaur skygazer, spoke for the first time, and everyone's heads swiveled to look at her. She spoke seldom, and then slowly. Her deep voice was of the sort that made everyone within earshot instantly attentive, for all knew that she was not one to spout idle words. "The Coven do not force themselves upon anyone. Nor would you need to contact them. They will know if you decide to see them.

"But I would advise caution, your Majesties," Galeforce continued seriously. "I have been watching the skies, and what I see there unsettles me. I do not fully understand it, so I will not elaborate, but I think you should consider this situation very carefully before proceeding."

There was a brief silence. I exchanged an uneasy glance with Edmund.

"Any further thoughts?" Peter asked, gesturing toward the letter that lay on the table before Taliba.

"I will not pressure your Majesties to choose either way," Tumnus said. "This is of course entirely your decision. But…" he hesitated, then plowed on. "I feel that finally witnessing something that we've always heard so much about in the old stories, it's as if…as if things in Narnia are finally getting back to normal." He looked at us, and there was such hope in his expression it brought a smile to my face. "I feel as if everything is going back to the way it was before, the way things ought to be."

At Tumnus' words, I felt torn. While I wasn't sure about these witches at all, Tumnus and some of the other Narnians certainly seemed to be. Was this just another example of my own lack of knowledge concerning this world, or was it a gut instinct that I needed to follow?

"Thank you all for your insight," Peter said, when no one spoke after Tumnus. "We will consider this matter very carefully, remembering all you have said." He bowed and turned to leave, and the rest of us followed.

* * *

"So…what do we do?"

We had all hurried silently up to the sitting room off of Peter's bedroom, waiting to speak until we were alone behind closed doors. Once inside, Lucy and I sat together on the couch. Edmund perched on the arm while Peter sank into an armchair across from us, resting his elbows on his knees. After a few heartbeats of silence, Lucy had asked the question, and we all looked to Peter. He pondered silently for a few moments before speaking.

"I think we should do it," he said finally. "First of all, allowing the Coven to come bestow their blessing is in keeping with tradition, which we've learned is very important here. Everyone at the council seemed very excited when they heard of the letter. Also, nobody seemed to think that the Coven would cause us harm. I think this group has obviously established a respect that is centuries deep; nothing could easily undo that, so I feel like the others were right in saying these witches won't want to do anything to hurt us."

"Plus, they did say they want their blessings to help us serve Aslan," Lucy added enthusiastically. "I think any offer of that sort is one we ought to take advantage of."

"Don't forget what Gale said," I reminded them. The Centaur's words had weighed my stomach with trepidation; I was already wishing we hadn't received the letter from the Coven. "We need to be careful, here."

"She also said that she didn't know exactly what the stars were telling her," Peter replied. "She didn't say the Coven was definitely the source of whatever she saw."

"She didn't say they weren't, either," Edmund said, speaking for the first time. He sounded very serious, and there was still a worried crease between his eyebrows. "I don't think we should do this, Peter."

I laid a reassuring hand on his knee.

"They do sound mysterious, but…they aren't Jadis, Edmund," I said softly.

He stood up suddenly, angrily shoving my hand away.

"Have you _met_ them?" he demanded heatedly. "Do we really _know_ what their intentions are? Honestly, I don't think we can trust anyone who says they can do magic."

"But _everyone_ here does magic," Lucy protested. "At least, in their own way. You know, the Centaurs can foretell the future by reading the heavens, the Dryads and Naiads know everything about nature—and the Animals talk! We would have thought that was magic in our world, wouldn't we? And," she continued eagerly, each thought seeming to lead instantly to another. "There's the _Deep_ Magic, the magic that is more powerful than even Aslan."

"Okay, okay, so I was wrong in making such a general assumption," Edmund snapped impatiently. "Obviously there's _some_ magic we can trust. But we don't know that this is part of it."

"Ed," Peter said, leaning forward and peering at him intently. "Is there something specific that someone said that's making you distrust this Coven? Or are you just suspicious because of—" He broke off, but we all knew who he was talking about.

"I'm suspicious because this is a group of people we haven't had any contact with at all," said Edmund hotly. "And yeah, all right, the Witch hasn't exactly made me want to welcome them with open arms."

"Look, we all understand why you're feeling like this," I said soothingly. "And no one's blaming you in the slightest. But Ed—" I took a deep breath, trying to choose my words carefully. "You're always saying that before condemning anyone, we should give them a chance to prove their innocence. Is it right that we should judge an entire group of people before we've even met them, solely on the basis of our experience with one individual? We don't even know if they had anything to do with Jadis or her crimes—in fact, all the evidence shows that their intentions toward Narnia are completely different from the White Witch."

Edmund sank back down onto the arm of the couch, looking uncomfortable.

"Okay, you're right, Su," he said quietly. "Fine. And I suppose it's only fair that we give them a chance to prove themselves. But—" he looked at each of us earnestly. "I can't ignore my gut feeling, and I have to say that I don't like anything about this whole business." He crossed his arms over his chest decisively.

There was a sudden tap at the door.

"Please come in," I called.

The door opened slightly and the Cheetah poked his head around it.

"Your pardon, Majesties, but I am told that several Deer from Owlwood have arrived to escort the Queens to the central clearing."

Lucy and I stood up immediately.

"Please tell them that we will join them in the front courtyard, and that we apologize for our lateness," I said. "Also, send word for the grooms to ready our mares and have them in the front courtyard as soon as possible." The Cheetah bowed and ducked back into the hallway.

I turned back to my family and we all stared at one another for a long moment.

"So…is it agreed?" Peter said finally. "Are we going to accept this Coven's blessing?" The rest of us nodded, Edmund grudgingly.

"All right then." I felt odd, as if we had made a promise we couldn't break. But I said nothing of this. "We should be back by dinner," I told Peter and Edmund as Lucy hugged them both good-bye.

Peter smiled. If he felt anything odd, he wasn't showing it. "Good luck. Don't forget that Thalamus and some of the Cheetahs are going with you."

I was following Lucy to the door when I overheard Peter speak softly to Edmund.

"You do remember that Jadis is gone, right? She can't do anything to hurt you anymore."

I glanced back over my shoulder before leaving, and saw that Edmund's face wore an odd, closed expression. The reassurance he gave Peter was not convincing in the slightest.

I frowned, but there was no time to pursue the matter. I turned and followed my sister.

* * *

**A/N:** I apologize for the delay in updating this chapter...I've been meaning to post once a week, but just two weeks into the new term and grad school is already kicking my butt.

A quick note on names: the Coven is named for the Greek word for "life" (pronounced ZOH-ee). I wrote it "Zwn" rather than "Zoe" because it looked cooler and because that's kind of how the Greek letters themselves look.

Pacing too rushed? Too slow? Anyone out of character? Some glaring mistake that I didn't catch? Please let me know! I'd love to hear from you! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed or added this story to their favorites or alerts list! And of course a HUGE thank you to ALL my readers out there! :)


	6. Chapter Five: Promising Tidings

**All We Are**

**by: mokatster**

_**Chapter Five: Promising Tidings **_

The sun was shining brightly, and The'eba reveled in the warm rays beaming down on her. Her leaves rustled as she gave an involuntary shiver of delight, stretching her roots further into the cool soil, delighting in the rich nutrients it provided.

She could become anything she wished…and that ability brought her a greater understanding of the world and its marvels than anything else ever could. She soaked up the sun, giving thanks for the wonder of it all.

Her rhapsodies were interrupted by the vibrations in the ground that heralded Brighde's approach.

The'eba knew it was her. Nobody else even bothered with the apple trees anymore. She tried not to move, knowing that Brighde was the hardest of all the Coven to fool with her shape-shifting. But maybe, this time…

Brighde came into view, bearing a container. She glanced briefly at the bush-that-was-The'eba before kneeling at the foot of the nearest tree. She plunged her hands into the container, stirring the contents within for a good five minutes before speaking.

"Nice try, The'eba," Brighde said without looking up.

The'eba didn't respond. Brighde prodded her base with her foot.

"Give it up, I said. I know it's you."

The'eba relented, and with an almighty wrench of roots ripped from the soil, an angry snapping of branches, and an explosion of leaves, she shifted back to her usual form, complete with her dark cloak.

"What gave it away this time?" she asked, disgruntled, brushing leaves off her front.

"You quivered. There is no wind today."

Brighde turned back to the tree, at the base of which she was spreading a thick, pasty looking soil. The'eba scowled to herself, realizing that she should have known better than to believe she could fool Brighde. As one of the two Cailleachan, she had immense control over the weather, specifically the spring and summer seasons. She would, of course, know about the wind, since she was the one of the ones who summoned it.

The'eba turned her eyes to the tree on which Brighde was working. She looked at its beautiful silvery bark, then gazed up at the dappled sunlight that shone through its dark green leaves.

Such a beautiful tree…such a worthless tree…

"Will it flower this time, do you suppose?"

"How should I know?" Brighde snapped, finishing her ministrations and straightening to glare at The'eba. "We've been trying for years to get these trees to bear fruit, The'eba. It's all just one big experiment." She seized her container of pasty soil and moved on to the next tree.

"I am aware of that," The'eba said defensively as she trailed behind, regretting her idle question. She had forgotten that, even though the stubbornly fruitless trees were a source of frustration for the entire Coven, Brighde herself seemed to regard them as a mark of personal failure. They were the only plants she could not control.

"Why are you up here?" Brighde asked irritably, working the pasty loam into the earth.

"Maera says that the Four have consented to accept our blessings."

Brighde stilled and met The'eba's gaze. Beneath her hood, her eyes gleamed with the same kind of tentative hope that The'eba felt.

"So…will it happen, then?"

"Maera has only seen them from afar," The'eba reminded her. "We won't know for certain until they each make their wish, until we have seen every facet of them."

"But surely," Brighde persisted hopefully. "Since the youngest Son of Adam was so close to—"

"As you've just told me, speculation is pointless," The'eba retorted, a little sharply. "Let's not conclude anything too hastily."

Brighde seemed to understand that The'eba's harsh tone was inspired by fear. She reached out and squeezed The'eba's hand comfortingly, forgetting that her own were covered in soil.

"Her Winter is gone," she said softly. "Because of them, and the power they possess. For now, that is enough to give me hope."

The'eba couldn't help but smile at the younger Cailleach's optimism. Anything that reminded her of the coming of spring would be encouraging for her.

Maybe Brighde was right. But until Maera was able to learn more of the Four, The'eba was determined to not form any plans, to not get ahead of herself. She had to accept events as they came, not try to predict them. That was not the skill she had been given.

But yet…try as she might to remain dispassionate, she found herself incessantly dwelling on the Four.

Everything depended on them. Particularly, if the signs had been read correctly, on the one who was Marked—the one they called the Just.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I'm alive! I apologize profusely for the wait, but the last two months have been EXTREMELY busy for me. Squeezing in time to sleep was difficult, much less finding time to post this story! So, there's my excuse. :) But thanks to one of my readers for the reminder to update! :)**

**One note on names: the Cailleachan, Brighde and Beira, are deities from a Scottish legend. The characters with the same names in this story were very heavily inspired by info from the wikipedia page discussing the Cailleachan. Go peruse it if they fascinate you! **

**Thank you so much for your patience in the slow update, and for continuing to read! :) **


	7. Chapter Six: Blessings Bestowed

**All We Are **

**by: mokatster**

_**Chapter Six: **__**Blessings Bestowed**_

I awoke to the sensation of a soft hand stroking my face.

"Susan…wake up, Susan…"

The singsong voice caressed my ears, but I turned away from it with a groan and buried my face in my pillow.

"Susan…"

"No," I moaned into the pillow.

"Su." The voice was more insistent now. "You're the one who always says I need to have my hair combed and arranged before going down to breakfast. I'm ready to eat breakfast. So I need you to please comb my hair."

"Lucy," I murmured without opening my eyes. "What time is it?"

"Time to eat," she persisted. "Please comb my hair."

I propped myself up on my elbows, squinting in the morning sunlight and blinking blearily at my sister's beaming face.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she sang.

"Lucy, why are you in here?" I pushed myself upright and rubbed at my eyes, trying to clear them. "You know one of the Dryads can do your hair just as well."

"But it really tickles when Sasha does it," Lucy protested, shifting herself into a more comfortable position on the edge of my bed. "And then I'm giggling so much that I can't sit still and she gets frustrated. And Edmund tells me that it's really hard to get a Dryad frustrated and that he was surprised I can manage it." She pouted, sticking out her lower lip in a petulant sort of way.

I sighed, flinging back the blanket and padding past Lucy across the rug to my wardrobe. "Edmund was just teasing you," I reassured her. "Sasha is from a balsa tree, and you know how finicky that wood is. She's more irritable than most."

I stared hopelessly into my wardrobe for several long moments before realizing that I had yet to call Lady Shina. The cherry tree Dryad was my head lady-in-waiting, and immensely helpful to me. In addition to grooming me into an acceptable state, she would tell me what was on the agenda for the day ahead and assist me in choosing the appropriate attire. I had learned that a monarch's garb was an essential part of diplomacy; everything must be painstakingly selected according to the nature of the situation. A carelessly chosen color scheme or a slightly mismatched accessory could spell doom for an entire proceeding.

Before I could move to call her, however, there came an urgent knock at my bedroom door proceeded by Lady Shina's hasty entrance. She seemed rather flustered; her eyes were wide and her hair rustled around her head as if caught in a constant breeze, trailing leaves behind her.

"Your Highnesses! The Coven have made contact! Your Royal Presence is requested in the great hall immediately!"

My heart leaped into my throat and I exchanged a startled and excited glance with my sister, who had jumped to her feet. The witches had certainly responded much quicker than I'd anticipated; we'd only received their letter yesterday!

"They're here?" Lucy squeaked nervously.

"Yes, yes!" Lady Shina said breathlessly, backing out of the room and beckoning urgently to us. "Come, my Queens!"

"Er—Lady Shina?" I gestured meaningfully at my rumpled nightdress and tangled hair.

"Oh!" The Dryad seemed to come to her senses. She glided back into the room, shutting the door behind her, and swept over to the wardrobe. Rifling through the dozens of gowns within, she said, "We'll get you pruned and spruced at once, my Queens. But quickly—we mustn't keep them waiting!"

It wasn't long until both Lucy and I were presentable and hastening downstairs behind Lady Shina. We found Peter and Edmund waiting for us just outside the closed doors to the great hall. Peter was standing erect with his hands clasped behind his back, while Edmund was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, with his arms crossed over his torso.

"We aren't even allowed in yet," he informed us grumpily as we approached. "Who are they to boss us, I'd like to know?"

"Have you seen them?" I asked breathlessly, raising my hands to my head to make sure my crown was straight.

Peter shook his head. "No. Ed and I were still breakfasting when we were informed of their arrival. Plus, we were told they insisted on seeing the four of us together."

Edmund scowled, and Peter nudged him playfully with his elbow. Lucy and I looked at each other and grinned. Edmund always hated being bossed around, and the idea of a group of witches telling kings and queens what to do was surely extremely irritating for him. But we were receiving blessings from them, and their way was really the only polite way to do it.

Peter turned to Lady Shina. "Are the others on their way?"

Before she could reply, a clatter of hooves announced the arrival of General Oreius, Captain Thalamus, and Galeforce the Centaur seer, the last of whom was pulling along a grumpy looking Taliba on a small, wheeled platform.

"Just because I move slowly doesn't mean I can't move on my own," the cranky Tortoise was grousing. "I at least could move more quietly than the clodhopper, here." She glared at Oreius, who was walking alongside her cart. He ignored her.

After exchanging the perfunctory greetings, the lot of us turned to look at Lady Shina.

"Shall we?" she asked.

At Peter's assent, the cherry tree Dryad pulled open the heavy door to the great hall and Peter led the way with the rest of us following and our advisors filing behind.

To my surprise, the hall was empty. Our empty thrones gleamed expectantly at the far end of the room, and the vast empty space between us and them was filled with dazzling, slanted sunbeams that shone from the immense windows that lined the walls and from the smaller panes that formed a border just below the rib-vaulted ceiling. The pillars along each side of the hall cast long, dark shadows over the floor.

Lady Shina, having closed the door, hurried to whisper close to my ear: "I would suggest forming a line in front of the fireplace, though a little way distant."

The four of us exchanged puzzled glances, but hastened to comply. I wasn't really sure what was going on, and that made me distinctly uncomfortable. We stood side-by-side facing the fireplace: first Peter, then me, then Edmund, then Lucy. Oreius and Taliba stood off to the side nearest to Peter, while Thalamus and Galeforce took up positions on the end closest to Lucy. Lady Shina retreated to hover in the background.

I found myself staring at the bare logs in the cold fireplace, which would be filled with a cheerfully crackling fire come evening when the frigid air accompanied the darkness on its nighttime conquest. I wondered why we were staring at the dreary logs rather than the doorway behind us, through which the Coven would soon pass to meet us.

The thought had no sooner flitted through my mind when I caught sight of a flicker of blue flames. I blinked, and it was gone. But before I could convince myself that it had been a trick of the light, it appeared again, clear and strong against the dark logs. The flames grew brighter and stronger, running across the logs and joyfully leaping higher in the fireplace. Soon the space was roaring with a powerful blaze of glittering blue flames.

I was astounded, not only at how the fire had managed to start itself, but at the fact that had I closed my eyes and stopped my ears I wouldn't have noted its presence. If we were to build a fire just as large and stand as close as we were now, we would all be roasting. But as it was, I could feel no heat emanating from the odd, glittering flames.

I found myself having to squint against the dazzling light from the fire, but nevertheless I was able to notice a small dark shape in the center of the flames. As I watched, it grew larger and larger until finally it was recognizable as a person swathed in a hooded cloak. Just as soon as I dropped my jaw in astonishment, the cloaked figure was climbing gracefully from the fireplace and then stepping to the side to allow room for the next arrival, whose blurred shape had already appeared amidst the flames.

Each of my hands found one of my brothers'. I didn't look to either side, but I could tell from their firm grips that they were just as nervous as I at this unorthodox affair.

As soon as the fourth identically cloaked figure had emerged from the flames the fire diminished, shrinking into itself until it finally vanished from sight. The three figures already lined in front of the fireplace parted to allow the fourth arrival to pass to the front.

"To the Kings and Queens of Narnia, greeting." She spoke in a soft voice that nevertheless rang throughout the hall. "We are of the Coven of Zwn."

Peter bowed, and because we were all joined by the hands, the rest of us did as well.

"Welcome, representatives of the Coven," the High King said graciously. "We are honored by your presence."

"As are we by yours," came the reply. "And we have come to offer our blessing to each of the monarchs." With these words, she stepped back to stand next to the others, and another figure came forward to stand directly in front of Peter.

"High King Peter." The voice of this witch sent chills down my spine. If I hadn't known that the entire Coven were female, I would not have known which to label this person, for her voice had a perfectly neutral pitch. Yet it also seemed to have a strange depth to it that implied great knowledge. She spoke slowly and deliberately, as if weighing each word. It was a manner of speaking that made one instantly pay attention, for it seemed that everything she said was of the utmost importance. "Will you accept this Coven's blessing?"

Peter inclined his head. "I will."

No more words were exchanged. Peter and the witch stood still, staring at each other. Suddenly, Peter's muscles tensed and his whole body went rigid. I gasped in alarm and felt Edmund squeeze my hand anxiously, but none of the Coven or our own advisors seemed distressed. For ages, it seemed, Peter stood face-to-face with the witch, unmoving, staring into the depths of her cowl. Once he drew a sharp breath and squeezed my hand painfully, eliciting another gasp from me. Finally, he released a shuddering breath and lowered his gaze to the floor.

"Be blessed, High King," whispered the witch.

She moved in front of me.

"Queen Susan."

I straightened, staring into the shadow of her cowl as Peter had done. I couldn't make out any feature of her face.

"Will you accept this Coven's blessing?"

I swallowed nervously. "I will."

At once, intensely dark eyes blazed out fiercely from the depths of the hood. They seemed to be lit by bright lanterns from deep within, yet they acted as beams from electric torches, glaring straight at me and illuminating no other feature of the witch's face. The terrible gaze bored into mine and I found it impossible to look away or make any sort of movement.

I felt completely and horribly exposed, as if I wasn't wearing even a robe to cover my nakedness, as if everything I had ever done or thought in my thirteen years of life were laid bare for all to see. I had no secrets, no private thoughts, and my hidden fears were suddenly more real and likely to come true than they had ever been before.

My breath caught in my throat as I heard the witch's voice inside my head.

_What do you fear, Susan Pevensie?_

As soon as she asked the question, terrible images flashed before my eyes and the witch's penetrating stare. I saw myself, a young and foolish queen, blundering around and making the worst mistakes a monarch could make. I saw myself offending foreign dignitaries because I hadn't known how to diplomatically respond to their requests, driving them back to their homelands cursing Narnia and demanding belligerent action against us. I saw myself deliberating an important decision, caught between two terrible choices, and ultimately selecting the wrong course of action because I was not clever enough to foresee the outcome of it all. I saw the upturned faces of all the Beasts of Narnia as they gazed up at me, their eyes brimming with hurt and betrayal. "_We trusted you to lead us!" _they wailed. "_We trusted you, completely and absolutely. We gave you everything! See what you've done to us! See what Narnia has become!_" Looking beyond them at the forests and mountains of my beloved country, I saw that Narnia was not the bright and cheerful land we had come to know. It was an oppressed, snow-covered wasteland once again. This time it would be frozen forever.

I took several gulping breaths to try to calm my racing heart, dimly aware of both my hands being squeezed tightly. This couldn't happen—I wouldn't _let_ it happen. We had been brought to deliver Narnia out of oppression, not to tighten its chains. Aslan wouldn't have crowned us if He knew we would simply drive Narnia back into slavery…would He?

_I have seen your fears, Susan Pevensie, _the voice came again. _You feel keenly your lack of knowledge and experience. You fear failure and destruction of what you love. Therefore, I offer a blessing of prudence, of insightful sagacity for all that is to come. _

I felt her withdraw and I released a trembling sigh as I felt my mind become my own once again. I felt relieved and drained, my body wilting slightly. Strong hands at either side of me held me steady and I gripped them tightly, grateful for their presence. I felt weak yet fulfilled, and torn between fear of what I had seen and confidence from the blessing that had followed.

To my right, Edmund was now lost in the darkness of the witch's hood. I wasn't sure how long I had been caught in her gaze—all sense of time had vanished, leaving me none-the-wiser as to whether I had been there for minutes or hours. All I knew was that Edmund was being examined much longer than Peter had been. At one point his hand jerked rather violently, causing me to stumble against him.

Finally the witch released him and moved on to Lucy. I peered anxiously at my younger brother. He had his eyes closed and his head bowed. Conscious of the other members of the Coven watching, I was reluctant to speak aloud, even in a whisper. Instead, I squeezed Edmund's hand reassuringly. I was relieved when he returned the pressure.

The witch soon finished with Lucy, and retreated to join the others. Then the voice of the Coven stepped forward again.

"For all our hopes for Narnia and for you, Kings and Queens, we have offered all we have to give. May our blessings prove to serve you as you serve Him."

As one, we bowed silently, then jumped as the fireplace erupted once again with glittering blue flames. Then, one at a time, the representatives from the Coven turned, stepped into the re-ignited fire, and vanished. When the last one had disappeared, the fire shrank into itself and extinguished, leaving the fireplace as dark and cold as it had been before.

* * *

**A/N: Woo hoo, double update! :) **

**This whole weird scene was inspired by the one in Tolkien's _The Fellowship of the Ring_, where Galadriel looked into the minds of each member of the fellowship and tempted them. **

**Thanks so much for reading! :) I'd love to hear your thoughts on this story-good and bad! Feel free to review or drop me a line! :D**


	8. Chapter Seven: What Happened After

**All We Are**

**by: mokatster**

_**Chapter Seven: What Happened After **_

I felt as though I had been doused with a bucket of ice-cold water. I couldn't move my limbs and I had to force myself to draw breath.

I couldn't get the witch's words out of my head. Her dark eyes had blazed so intensely, seeming to see into the very depths of my soul. After asking aloud if I would accept her blessing, she spoke in my head. Those whispered words seemed to reverberate endlessly within my mind, filling me with an inescapable dread that strengthened with each repetition.

_She is not gone. She lives inside you still. _

It was my worst fear realized, something that I had come to suspect when my nightmares failed to cease: Jadis was dead, but certainly not gone.

I don't know how long I stood with my siblings staring into the cold grate before Oreius spoke.

"Your Majesties!"

I stirred and blinked, focusing on the muscular Centaur that stood in front of us. I realized he was grasping both Susan and Peter by the shoulder. I felt a supporting hand at my back and, swiveling my head, saw Captain Thalamus standing behind me and Lucy, looking concerned.

"Are you well?" Lady Shina hovered nearby, peering fretfully into each of our faces.

Peter was the first to find his voice.

"Yes..yes, I'm fine," he said. "Just a little dazed." He looked anxiously at the rest of us.

"I'm okay," Lucy announced, though her voice wavered slightly. I muttered something to the same effect, though my heart was still racing, pounding valiantly against the weight of dread in my chest threatening to crush it.

"Was—was that _normal?_" Susan stammered.

"The records have included no details of the actual ceremonies, your Majesty," snuffled Taliba, "which is why this was not made a more public affair. But more than one monarch claimed that the Coven are all-seeing. They could have been referencing a sort of mental examination like the Four of you just underwent."

"Are you _certain_ you feel all right, your Majesties?" Lady Shina was now trying to peer into my eyes.

"I'm _fine_," I insisted, avoiding her gaze.

"We're okay, really," Lucy said, her voice a little stronger than before.

Lady Shina seemed mostly pacified, but her face was still pinched nervously. "In that case, perhaps I'd better send word to the kitchens to serve the luncheon."

"What?" Susan said, sounding startled. "It can't be lunchtime already! We got here just after breakfast!"

Oreius grimaced. "The Coven were in no hurry. They examined each of you very thoroughly." He sounded very unhappy, and I knew that despite the great respect the Coven seemed to command with all others, they would not earn such sentiments from General Oreius, who was before all a soldier determined to keep the Four of us safe. But swords wouldn't be much use against a mental bombardment like the one we'd just experienced. After that mind-numbing ceremony, I found myself wondering if the Coven were treated with respect only because most everyone was scared senseless of them.

"Come," Lady Shina beckoned, still scrutinizing us anxiously. "You'll feel better after a meal." As we moved to follow her, I realized I was still clutching my sisters' hands, and I released them hastily.

Lunch was a quiet affair, our private dining room filled with only the sounds of cutlery and chewing. Each of us was preoccupied with our own thoughts. I was still rattled from what the witch had said to me and from the visions that had flashed before my eyes.

"It was so strange," Lucy spoke at last, after all our plates were nearly cleared. She still seemed a little dazed. "I could hear her voice inside my head."

"I could too, Lu," Peter said, laying down his fork. He looked at her sympathetically and reached across the table to hold her hand reassuringly. "It was a little unnerving, wasn't it?"

Susan nodded in agreement, but I started chewing on another mouthful of bread so I wouldn't have to answer.

"What did she say to everyone?" Lucy wondered, looking between the rest of us curiously.

There was a heavy pause.

"I think—" Peter stopped then started again. "This may seem a little childish," he said apologetically. "But do you all remember when Mum would have us blow out candles for our birthday, or tell us about wishing on stars? She would always say that we shouldn't tell anyone what we wished, because then it wouldn't come true. Now, I know this isn't quite the same thing," he continued hastily, seeing that Lucy had opened her mouth to say something. "But all the same…I feel like whatever she said to me in my mind—good or bad—should stay there. At least for now."

I felt a rush of gratitude toward Peter for his evasive reply, because revealing what I had seen and heard was the last thing I wanted to do. I mean, the Coven had obviously come to help us, and they had blessed us after all, but for me, at least, at that moment the blessing felt overshadowed by the terrible things I had seen in my mind, worse than what had ever appeared in my nightmares.

I shook myself mentally. They were things that had not happened and that would not happen, now that Jadis was gone. It would do no good to dwell on them.

"Look here," Susan said after another few minutes' silence. "We can't just mope around like this. We don't have anyone to see today. Why don't we change our clothes and spend the afternoon on the beach? I feel like I at least could do with a swim."

The rest of us agreed, and so after swallowing a few more mouthfuls of applesauce, I hurried upstairs to put on some appropriate swimming clothes. Maybe if I was quick enough to get to the beach before anyone else, I could lurk beneath the waves and duck whichever unsuspecting sibling came my way first.

Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one scheming. And really, I should have known better. Having reached the bottom of the rocky path with no pursuit in sight, I was preparing to tear across the beach when a handful of wet sand flew out of nowhere and smacked me on the side of the head.

I staggered, automatically swiping at the impacted area while staring furiously around for the perpetrator. The beach before me was deserted, and the only sounds I could hear were the surf against the sand and the seagulls calling out to one another.

But piled on either side of the path were perpetual mazes of boulders, which could conceal a number of things most effectively—including conniving older brothers.

"Peter!" I shouted. "Where are you?"

My only response was another handful of wet sand lobbed from behind a large rock. Dodging this second missile, I dashed over to the rock to enact my revenge, but Peter leapt out from behind before I got there. He was crownless, but otherwise still dressed in the formal clothes he had been wearing earlier.

"You cheater!" I howled, seizing a handful of gravel and flinging it at him. He leaped backwards with a bark of laughter and whipped around, hurtling down the path to the beach. Furious, I set off in hot pursuit. "You cheated! You were supposed to change your clothes first!"

"Since when do _you_ listen to Susan?" he retorted over his shoulder. "I still beat you here, didn't I?"

I didn't waste my breath on a reply, intent as I was on catching him. He foolishly stopped to pull his boots off before running into the water. I caught him up and shoved him into the waves, completely disregarding his footwear and formal attire. He straightened, spluttering, water streaming from his hair and clothes. My triumphant crow of laughter quickly died in my throat at the sight of his expression.

_Oh, freeze._

"You little beast," he growled, lunging for me. I tried to escape, but he caught me around the waist and, ignoring my shouts and protests, threw me into the deeper water. A wave helpfully pushed me back toward the shore, but unfortunately just in time for Peter to tackle me again.

There was so much splashing and thrashing going on that we didn't hear the girls approaching. Somehow I ended up inhaling a mouthful of sea water, and the ensuing bout of choking, gasping, and hacking on my part ended the wrestling match long enough for us to register our sisters standing at the water's edge.

"Oh, Peter," Susan sighed in exasperation. "When you asked me to bring your clothes down for you, you were actually supposed to _wait_ to put them on." She gestured hopelessly at the useless bundle she clutched under her arm.

Peter looked a little sheepish.

"What?" I choked out, staring at my older sister incredulously. "You _helped_ him lay this ambush?"

Susan shrugged, entirely unmoved by what had happened to me. "I didn't know what he was going to do. He just asked if I would bring his clothes down for him." Thus the Gentle Queen wiped her hands of the whole affair. Unbelievable.

I threw a mock-glare at Peter, who just grinned and flung some more water at me. I fled to the shore, splashing through the surf as much as possible. I trudged through the sand until I reached a spot mid-way up the beach, where I threw myself down onto the warm sand and closed my eyes against the beaming sun. It was so comfortable, lying there with the sounds and smells of the beach all around me. Maybe I would go back to join my family in the water after I dried off a little….

I heard a grunt beside me and, cracking my eye open, saw Peter flopping down on the sand next to me. He was still in his wet, good clothes.

"Linus is gonna kill you," I muttered, closing my eyes again and turning my face to the sun.

Peter laughed. "Well, then afterwards he and Besnik can get together and gripe about how much trouble we are, can't they?"

I smirked, but didn't open my eyes. I wonder what would happen if our valets really did decide to rebel one day? What if we woke up with our wardrobes entirely empty? I tried to picture myself conducting business as usual dressed in nothing but a bed sheet. Then I pictured Susan's expression upon witnessing said scenario and had to bite back a laugh.

"Ed?"

"Mm."

Peter didn't answer right away, but I didn't force him to. I was half asleep lying on the sun-soaked sand, with very amusing situations playing out in my mind that I didn't really want to interrupt. What if everyone who wanted to deal with us was forced to do so in just a bed sheet? That would certainly knock some of those Calormene ambassadors off their high camels.

"Ed."

"What."

"…you wouldn't—run off for any reason, would you?"

Startled, I opened my eyes and swiveled my head to look at him. He was looking at me very seriously.

"What are you on about?" I didn't know what else to say; it was a completely unexpected question.

After a moment of uncertain silence, a horrible realization dawned on me. If he meant what I think he meant…that is to say, if he didn't think the last time I 'ran off' didn't have repercussions severe enough to stop it from happening a second time…

What I was thinking must have shown through in my expression because Peter looked suddenly very uncomfortable. "I just—Ed, I didn't mean—" Peter sounded as though he wished he hadn't brought it up. But he seemed anxious to clarify what he meant because he persisted, "Do you think there's anything that would make you want to leave?"

"Leave? Leave what? The castle? Narnia?"

"I dunno, just—look, forget it."

"No." I turned to face Peter full-on, heart pounding, propping myself up on my elbow. "Why are you asking me this?"

"It's just that, earlier, with the Coven…" Peter sighed. "I dunno if what I saw was even real or not. It was like a fragment of a nightmare or something. But we couldn't find you. It was almost like when…"

I felt uncomfortable.

"I wouldn't leave. Ever. You know that."

Peter avoided my eyes. "It's just—" he heaved a sigh, and flopped all the way down on the sand. He folded his arms underneath his head and closed his eyes against the blazing sun. "It just felt so real. And that whole affair was not like anything I expected at all."

"No," I muttered, lowering myself back to the ground and closing my eyes. "It definitely wasn't."

We didn't say anything else about the Coven for the rest of the day. But even while I joined Susan for a swim and ran along the beach with Lucy hunting for crabs, I didn't stop thinking about what Peter had said. Nor could I avoid the images that had flashed through my own mind. I was starting to wonder if maybe all this didn't have anything to do with the future at all. Jadis had been there, in those visions—and if Peter was seeing me running off, maybe this was proof that I wasn't the only one haunted by the past.

It was when the four of us, sandy and sunburned with windblown hair, were trooping back to the castle to dress for dinner that I finally allowed myself to seriously consider the blessing the Coven had bestowed on me.

_We have nothing to offer that can ever prove to be greater than the Gift you have already been given on the Stone Table. However, we offer the insight and strength you need to overcome your fear. _

Despite the lingering unease I felt from what the Coven had said to me about Jadis and from my brother's questions, remembering this blessing made me feel slightly hopeful. It was this unexpected emotion that made me start to consider for the first time that maybe, with their blessings, the Coven had come to give me and my family the chance of escaping the past, for good.

* * *

**A/N: Hope there's still interest out there for this story! I apologize for my long hiatus, but there was really no way around it. **

**I have to give credit for a couple of things. The idea of Peter and Edmund having valets that consider them to be very troublesome comes from elecktrum's marvelous work. And I remember reading a story where Edmund used the White Witch's name as a curse, which is where I got the idea of having him use "freeze" in that same manner. I don't remember which story that was, so if anyone knows what I'm talking about, let me know!**

**Questions? Comments? Let me know! I'd love the feedback! Thanks so much for reading!**


	9. Chapter Eight: Midnight Misgivings

**All We Are**

**by: mokatster**

_**Chapter Eight: Midnight Misgivings **_

It was with a sudden jerk that I awoke, breathing raggedly with my heart pumping as if I had just run to the top of the castle's tallest tower. I clutched the sheet to my chest in clenched fists, closing my eyes against the darkness and trying to calm my breathing. I had had the most unsettling dream. Not a nightmare—I don't have nightmares. I've never had nightmares.

As my breathing slowed, I realized my mouth and throat were as dry as cotton. Tossing the sheet aside, I swung my legs over the side of my bed and reached for the pitcher of water that I always kept on my nightstand. After pouring myself a glassful, I padded softly to the window to find what comfort I could in the beautiful, moon-washed landscape. But I didn't really expect to find any at this hour; I have always considered the small hours of the night to be the loneliest periods of my life.

It's not that I made a habit of staying awake long after most have gone to bed—quite the contrary. Growing up, I never had the urge to stay up past my bedtime. My parents never had to fight to get me to bed as they did with the others. As long as I went before or at the same time as them, I knew we would all fall asleep together. I wouldn't be left behind with the darkness.

I took another sip of water, taking comfort in the cool liquid that soothed my throat. It would sound a little childish to admit that I'm still afraid of the dark—I _am _thirteen years old, and a queen as well. But I hate it when I don't sleep through the night. Everything is too quiet. Even when I had been younger and shared a room with Lucy, it was still lonesome to wake up in the middle of the night, to know that I was the only one awake, and that everyone who might have offered me the comfort of companionship was somewhere else entirely, lost in a dream world that only they can know. I much prefer waking after the sun has already risen and kissed the world to life with its cheerful rays. I dread being startled out of sleep hours before dawn, when the world is cold and deathly silent. Once I'm awake, it's so hard to go back to sleep.

I set my glass down on the windowsill with a soft _chink_, and then, with a little shiver, hugged myself as I dwelt again on my unsettling dream. I wasn't even sure of what I had seen—if it was even possible.

_Don't be stupid,_ I chastised myself. Really, I was being ridiculous. Of course Edmund and Lucy wouldn't leave. The idea was absurd. And if they did leave, it would be due to a diplomatic reason, not some familial squabble.

I frowned. Had we been fighting, in my dream? I couldn't remember. I just remember panicking as I ran through the castle…I knew I was searching for my younger siblings—that part was absolutely clear. But I also felt guilty, as if something I had said or done had been to blame.

I rubbed my eyes wearily and sighed. Dwelling on my dream was pointless. It would do nothing but upset me and keep me awake longer. The best thing I could do was try to go back to sleep.

I moved silently back to the bed and burrowed under the blankets. But I didn't feel safer under them; rather, I felt terribly exposed. I buried my face in my pillow, not wanting to see my bedroom and the hulking shapes of the furnishings looming like ghosts out of the darkness.

_Aslan, help me._

But there was no response. Despite my pleas, sleep was slow in coming and when it did it offered no rest. When I awoke in the morning it was with a dry throat, a heavy head, and the most terrible feeling of apprehension still pressing my heart.

That night wasn't the only night I had that dream. It came back the next night, and the night after that. Praying to Aslan for intervention did nothing. And my trepidation grew.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! More to come-soon, because I have a break from school coming up!**


	10. Chapter Nine: Trapped

**All We Are **

**by: mokatster**

_**Chapter Nine: Trapped **_

One.

I thought I heard a twig snap behind me and tensed, tightening my grip on each of my two swords. But nothing happened yet.

Two.

My heart quickened in anticipation.

Three.

I heard the ringing sound of a sword being pulled from a sheath, and I wheeled around to face my unknown opponent.

Captain Thalamus stood a short distance away, brandishing his sword. Our eyes locked for an infinitesimal second.

Then he moved.

I lunged as he did, but he was out of range before I could even swing at him with my blade. He bounded past me, lashing out toward my side with his sword—a blow I deflected easily. We danced back and forth, attacking here, dodging there, getting closer to the edge of the yard all the time. The two swords were awkward in my hands, and I had to concentrate more on not injuring myself than on getting past Thalamus' defenses.

Seeing a sudden opening, I sprang forward, swiping first with one blade, and then the other. Thalamus danced backwards, easily avoiding both clumsy attacks. He leapt up onto the top rail of the fence and whirled around, about to bring his sword down on my head in a crushing blow—

"Hold!"

At Sergeant's shout, I froze in my position with both swords upraised, poised to block the attack that would never come. My chest was heaving and sweat streamed down my face.

Sergeant clomped nearer and towered over me critically. I wished he would let me move; trying to maintain an awkward position with General Oreius' massive cousin standing next to me holding a sword was very intimidating.

"What is the problem with your current position, King Edmund?"

I moved my head carefully to observe my feet—my left was planted behind my right and holding all my weight—my torso, which was bent backwards with the anticipation of an attack from above—and my arms, which were holding my swords above my head to block the blow from Thalamus' sword, frozen in mid-sweep. I couldn't see the problem.

"Erm…all of my weight is on one foot?"

"No." The Centaur motioned toward my crossed blades. "You are using both of your swords to fend off this single attack. You may relax."

Thalamus leapt from the fence as I lowered my swords and straightened. Sergeant looked at me sternly.

"Committing both of your swords either to an offensive or defensive move is a serious mistake," he said soberly. "The entire objective in fighting with two swords is to have one for offensive strikes, and the other as your shield. You cannot use both at the same time for either or." He paused, considering me thoughtfully. "I told you that it took some time to become a proficient swordfighter, and much longer than that to develop the skills needed to fight with two blades. I think this demonstration proves that it would be better for you to wait until you've become stronger in your use with a single sword before moving on."

I nodded, not really knowing what I could say. Sergeant seemed to sense my disappointment.

"Go get cleaned up. You're done for today." He galloped over to where Peter was still fiercely battling one of the other Fauns in the army.

I blew out a sigh before wheeling around toward the armory and changing rooms. In the doorway, I took a clean towel from a pile and wiped my face as I collapsed onto a bench just outside.

I heard footsteps and looked up to see that Captain Thalamus had followed me. He smiled knowingly and gestured.

"I'm not discouraged," I lied, toweling off the back of my neck.

Thalamus came and sat down beside me. He mimed holding two swords, and then motioned in a gesture that I understood to mean _difficult_.

"I know," I grumped, tossing the towel into a basket that had been placed against the wall. "I just want my own distinctive style."

Thalamus looked at me questioningly.

"You know…" I gazed at the dirt around my feet as though I expected to find an explanation etched into the ground. "Everyone's got their own way of fighting. You do all those flips and jumps. Sergeant is just sheer power with his massive swords, whether he's using two or just one. Even Peter…" I trailed off, watching my brother settle into an en guard position after getting instructed by Sergeant. With a sudden, dizzying series of spins and a flurry of parries and blows, he quickly bested the Faun he'd been paired against, earning an approving nod from the general.

Thalamus was watching him too, with an expression that could only be described as admiring. He made a series of powerful gestures.

I nodded in agreement. "Yeah, he is strong. I wish I had that as well," I said, scuffing at the dirt with my boot. I couldn't keep a wistful tone out of my voice.

Thalamus turned and looked at me thoughtfully. He pointed at me, then made a series of fluid gestures. Then he motioned toward himself and shook his head, looking slightly frustrated.

I smiled as I grasped his meaning. I was able to find my way out of tight spots easier than most. Even Thalamus had had me trapped several times during our skirmish, but I had been able to slip away each time.

Thalamus smiled in response and leaned back against the wall. He looked sideways at me and brushed his hand across his eyes.

I scowled. I knew I had stumbled one too many times out on the grounds. I had hoped it wouldn't be too obvious, but I should have known better. No wonder Sergeant had let me off early.

"It's been days since the Coven came with their 'blessings,'" I said bitterly. "But nothing's changed. I'm still having nightmares."

Thalamus gestured questioningly.

"Yeah, every night."

Thalamus sighed, watching Sergeant attempting to teach Peter to block a more tricky disarming technique. Rhindon flashed in the sun as it flew from Peter's hand again, and my brother's frustrated shout echoed around the yard.

"I can't take it," I said with sudden desperation. "I don't like her haunting me like this! I'm feeling more and more trapped—like there are walls closing in on me." I clenched my hands into fists. "The Coven told me I would overcome my fear, but they didn't seem to want to give me anything to help out with that!"

Thalamus looked at me and frowned before gesturing definitively at me several times.

I frowned, not sure I understood what he meant.

Thalamus gestured at me again, and pressed his hand significantly against my chest. I stared at him. Was he saying it was up to me? "I don't think it's that simple," I insisted.

There was silence for a few minutes as we both watched the Faun disarm Peter again.

"Your Majesty! King Edmund!"

I turned to see the red-bearded Chief Dwarf waddling toward me. He was followed by his somewhat scruffier son and apprentice, Nathin, who, rather than walk through the gate behind his father, chose to scramble over the fence surrounding the training grounds.

"Greetings, Chief," I called out as I rose from the bench. Thalamus stood as well and I gestured for him to come along as I set off across the grounds to meet the Dwarfs. "How do you fare today?"

"Argh, well enough," the Chief grunted. He turned to his son, who was lingering behind him. "Nathin! Dunna be shy, come out and greet yer king." Nathin emerged from behind his father and bowed to me solemnly, without a word. I returned the bow, trying not to smile.

"We've not yet finished examinin' the knife that was used against ya at the Shudderin' Woods," the Chief grunted. "But what we 'ave learned, we thought important to tell ya before we looked at it any further."

My heart began pounding slightly faster. I had completely forgotten about the dagger; the visit from the Coven had driven it out of my mind. "What is it?"

"Well, the blade was definitely laced with poison," he said grimly. "My Nathin here only found traces of it; most of it was gone, presumably into your wound." He eyed me curiously. "Ya have experienced no ill effects from it?"

"No," I said, disturbed, putting a hand on my stomach. "It's mostly healed…and I definitely never felt like I was poisoned."

The Chief Dwarf frowned, but didn't say anything. I myself had no idea what that could mean.

"Do you have any idea where it came from?" I asked.

The Chief shrugged. "Could be from anywhere—it's nuthin we've seen before. But it hasta be at least five 'undred year old."

I sighed. I wasn't really sure what to think. "Thank you for all you've done," I said. "I would ask that you keep looking into this—this dagger is a lot more unique than any other weapons we've come across."

"Of course, yer Majesty. And you were absolutely right to bring it ter us," the Chief proclaimed. "Nuthin pierces our mail and gets away with it! We'll get down ter the bottom o' this in no time, I promise ya that."

"Remember that you're to come only to me with this," I reminded him. "Under no circumstances are the High King or queens to be told—at least, not until something definitive is discovered. If it turns out to be nothing, I don't want to cause them to worry for no reason."

"Right y'are, King Edmund. Would there be anythin' else, then? I'd best be gettin' back to the Smithy—I've got my nephew in charge an' he tends to let the coal runners make a bigger mess than they oughta. He's an odd one, him."

I bit back a smile. I'd never noticed anything particularly odd about the Chief's nephew, Stendin. He just seemed to have the tendency to daydream a bit more than was normal for a Dwarf. "No, nothing else Chief. Thank you."

With a salute from the Chief and a clumsy bow from Nathin, the Dwarfs set off back across the grounds, toward the river and the smith on the other side.

Thalamus and I were still and silent as we stared after them.

"That dagger is important," I said at last. "I don't know what it is, or why it should mean anything special—but we have to find out." I thought of how it had sliced the mail near my abdomen, so close to where the Witch had stabbed me with her wand almost a year ago.

A surge of fear rose through me at the thought of Jadis—almost a year later, and I was still battling her followers and the memory of what she had done to me and to Narnia. I didn't want to deal with these problems, I didn't want to think about any of this. I wished Jadis and her horrible legacy could be out of my life forever. Even though she was dead, even though I knew Aslan had defeated her, I still felt like she was driving a wedge between me and Narnia.

As if he could hear my troubled thoughts, Thalamus placed a hand gingerly on my arm. I turned at my friend's quiet prompting to find him facing me, a round stone resting in his open palm. Its golden surface glinted in the bright sun. Though I certainly don't gawk over precious stones and gems as much as Lucy and Susan, I found my breath catching in my throat at the beauty of this stone. I recognized it as a _hield_—a loyalty stone. Upon the coronation of a new leader, each being serving Narnia—from the soldiers, to the ambassadors and advisers, to the kitchen staff at the castle—grasped one of these stones from the Eastern Sea firmly in his fist, paw or claw and pledged his life, fortune, and sacred honor to defending Narnia, her leader, and—above all—Aslan.

The oath-taking ceremonies were a very solemn affair. Nobody had quite known what to do with _four_ kings and queens rather than the usual one. Most Narnians seemed more than willing to grasp each of our hands and swear their loyalty to each one of us. But we had all realized the enormous amount of time that would take—and so Susan had suggested that since Peter was the High King, he should be the one taking the active role in the ceremony. Even though I hadn't had anyone look directly into my eyes and thus swear their loyalty to me, I was still very moved at the memory of the three-day affair. It was a reminder that I would never forget: the Narnians were our people. And we were theirs.

I looked up at Thalamus, wondering why he had brought out his stone now.

He looked at me intently, and then made several signs in quick succession. I only caught _Aslan, _and a sign that meant either _love _or _loyalty_.

"I know what the stone is, Thal," I said, bewildered. "Why do you have it out? I thought the deal was to always keep it next to your heart after the swearing ceremonies."

He extended the hand holding the stone out toward me.

I stared at him dumbfounded for a moment, and he motioned again for me to take his hand. I was floored at the gesture: he was going to reaffirm the oath he'd given the High King—to me.

I swallowed. Narnian vows were no joking matter—if one was offered, rejecting it would be the highest degree of offense. Immediately, I reached out my hand and grasped Thalamus' firmly, the _hield_ stone held tightly between our two palms.

Thalamus closed his eyes and bowed his head over our clasped hands. He gestured the signs as best he could with his one free hand, and I repeated the familiar mantra from the swearing ceremonies in my head.

_Here do I swear fealty to you, my king. I will be at your side whether in peace or in war, in famine or plenty, in living or dying, in times of sorrow or in times of joy. I will defend you and Narnia against all enemies, be they living or dead. May Aslan bear witness to this oath and, in His infinite power, seal my words to you, my king, as binding until either or both of us pass from this world to the next._

Thalamus squeezed my hand a little tighter, and gestured once more to himself in reaffirmation.

_So say I, Thalamus._

I swallowed. "And so hear I, Edmund, King of Narnia—and neither shall I forget it," I added, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat.

* * *

As a small child, I had always run to my father after a nightmare.

I could still remember waking up with the sheets twisted around me, my breathing labored due to the fear tightening my chest. I would throw off the bedding and bolt to my parents' room, burrowing under the covers as close to my father as I could. And Dad would always wake up and gather me close to his chest, rocking me back and forth until my trembling ceased.

"It was just a dream, Eddie," he would whisper. "It wasn't real. It can't hurt you."

But this was different. Oh, God, this was _different_. My nightmare was real this time. And She certainly could hurt me. She already had. And this time, there was nowhere to run.

I curled more tightly into myself, cowering under the blankets to hide from the darkness, trying to think of something else, anything else. But the terrifying images from my dream were cruelly persistent, running through my mind over and over again.

A police Wolf pouncing on me, lunging for my throat—and then, She herself, brandishing her wand at Peter, who is bravely shielding the girls—a courtyard of stone creatures—the freezing grip of the icy manacles on my ankles—Lucy, meeting my eyes, horrified realization dawning on her face just before the Witch turns her to stone—a triumphant shout ringing through the night as a stone dagger is cruelly thrust into a sea of golden fur—

A gasping sob escaped me and my eyes flew open, darting desperately around my darkened bedchamber. It was dark, all dark; it would always be dark—

My chest heaved as I desperately tried to regain some semblance of control. The Witch was dead. There was no one here. I was safe, my siblings were safe.

But nothing I told myself seemed to matter; every bulky shadow was likely to turn into _Her_ shadow if it got any closer, and I was all alone in this room with no one to help me—

Suddenly, I froze, holding my breath. I wasn't alone. Someone_ was_ in there with me. I sat still, without as much as a quiver, not daring to breathe.

_Edmund._

I gasped; the voice had been so clear, and yet I couldn't tell whether the word had been whispered out loud in the room or if it was just inside my head.

_You belong to me._

It was Jadis. It was her voice.

Without another thought, without even pausing for my robe or slippers, I leapt off the bed and tore across the room. Flinging open the door, I burst into the corridor and, ignoring the startled exclamation of my night guard, hurtled to the staircase and Peter's room several floors above.

I barely heard the High King's guard wish me a startled "good evening," as I burst through the door of my brother's bedroom. I heard Peter wake with a cry as the door crashed against the wall a little harder than I had meant it to. I should have apologized and gently closed the door behind me, but reason seemed to have no hold on my mind at that moment. I flew across the room and leaped onto the tall bed, whipping the covers over myself and burying my head underneath a pillow. I couldn't have cared less about how childish I was acting—I wanted away from Her _now_ and my dignity was the last thing on my mind.

"Ed! What the hell, what're you doing?" Peter shook my shoulder roughly. "What are you on about, coming in here like this in the dead of night?"

"Shut up!" I forced the words past the tears clogging my throat and tried to push him away. I just wanted him to ignore me and let me stay there, no questions asked. Unfortunately, my brother isn't the type to just let things go when he knows there's something wrong.

"Ed? Hey, what's the matter?"

Great. He had that urgent tone in his voice. There was no way he was going to let me ignore him. He wanted answers, and he would get them one way or another. I sniffed, trying to swallow my tears.

"Ed." Peter's voice was firm, but his hand on my back was gentle. "Are you going to talk or just sit there?"

I huffed a sigh and pulled my head out from under the pillow. But I didn't look up; I kept my head down so my brother wouldn't see my face.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

"Yeah," I admitted softly. I sniffed again, swiping at the tears on my face with my sleeve, hoping that somehow Peter wouldn't notice. I could almost hear him frowning.

"When was the last time you had one of those? It's been a while, hasn't it?"

The undercurrent of perplexed concern in his voice was enough to make me squirm uncomfortably. Oh Aslan, I hated this. I hated causing so much worry. I hated being the source of all this trouble.

Slowly, reluctantly, I shook my head, forgetting that he couldn't see the motion in the dark room. I really didn't want to talk about this, but I reckoned I owed Peter some sort of explanation. After all, I had sort of taken over his room.

"I used to have them every night, after getting into Narnia for the first time," I admitted reluctantly. I was pleased at the steadiness of my voice; I sounded much calmer than I really was. "I didn't have them as much after a while, though."

There was silence as Peter digested this.

"But you've still been having them?" he persisted quietly. "How often?"

"Maybe…" I hesitated, not really wanting to elaborate on the extent of the problem. "I dunno, it used to be like once every few weeks or something. But lately…it's been happening pretty much every night."

Peter blew out a heavy sigh. "Why didn't you say anything?"

I scowled and shoved my pillow at him. "What, so you could wave your magic wand and make them go away?" I pushed myself up into a sitting position. "There's nothing you could have done!"

Peter seemed undeterred by my attitude. "Well, you could have just started sleeping in here."

I huffed irritably and turned to glare at him.

"Peter, don't you think it's a bit childish for a king to go running to his older brother's room just because of a stupid nightmare?" I shifted, sitting back against the headboard, and ran a hand through my disheveled hair. "I need to grow up a little now that I'm running a country, don't you think?" As I spoke, I felt the familiar unease stir in my stomach; maybe these nightmares were a sign that I really couldn't handle this—that I was never meant to be king.

"And what's so different about this time, then? Why did you come running in here tonight if you think it's so childish?" my brother pressed, ignoring my blustering. The concern in his voice made the question genuine, not mocking or accusing as it would have been coming from someone else.

I opened my mouth, and then shut it again. I shuddered, remembering the icy presence in my room. I finally answered, and this time, despite all my efforts, I couldn't keep the tears out of my voice:

"She was _there_."

"What?"

Peter sounded absolutely incredulous, and I felt foolish and frustrated all at once. Did he think I'd come running just because I was a little spooked? If I were _that_ skittish then I would have been spending the night in his room for many nights before this! I had _felt_ her there, she had me trapped, if I hadn't left at that moment—I was desperate to make him understand.

"I'm not crazy! I'm not scared of some silly dream!" I was practically shouting, but I didn't care. Months of nightmares, months of not getting nearly as much sleep as I would like, had finally culminated in something much more terrifying than I had ever expected to experience—terrifying enough to drive me to seek refuge in my brother's room, something I hadn't done since I was three.

"She was there, Peter! I heard her, I felt her!" There was a brief pause, and I wasn't sure if Peter was thinking about what I had said or if he was just sitting in silent skepticism.

"Please don't make me go back in there," I whispered into the silence, half-ashamed of the pleading tone in my voice. But I didn't want to be anywhere she was; I wanted forget her icy touch, to stop my heart quaking from the memory of what it felt like to have her claim me as her own.

"_Please_, Peter," I pressed him. "I promise I won't snore," I added in a desperate attempt at humor.

My brother chuckled weakly and pulled me close in an embrace. I clutched him tightly, feeling safe in his arms, knowing Peter wouldn't let anything happen to me if it was within his power to stop it. "I know you won't," he murmured into my hair. "I know."

* * *

**A/N:** The Narnian loyalty oath is based on one in the Lord of Rings that Pippin gave to Denethor, the Steward. I consider the bond between the Narnians and their monarchs very interesting...and on that note, **rthstewart** has recently posted a great story called "I love not man the less but nature more," which explores this bond in quite a different and marvelous way than what I described in this story. More mature content, but totally worth the read! :)

Thanks to all who have kept up with this story, and especially to those who have left reviews! Your feedback is so encouraging!


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